


Across the Road, At the Brothel

by CrimsonRae



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonRae/pseuds/CrimsonRae
Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**The Rose and Pine**

_O' Valley of Plenty_

_Valley of Plenty..._

The crowd of the Rose and Pine belted loudly as the Bard's lyrical strumming underscored the lighthearted air of the tavern. Lyrra shook her head and bit back a smile as she set down steins of ale and cups of wine before a few new arrivals. It was the largest crowd she had seen in weeks and she knew that it was in no small part due to the man currently entertaining Glynedol's lower masses and his conspicuously missing travel companion.

Glynedol was no stranger to road-weary travelers. The small town laid on the northern rim of Toussaint and generally acted as a respite for those heading into or out of the city proper. Most had barely batted an eye at the sight of the bard, it was the Witcher he traveled with that was the anomaly. There wasn't much call for his type in wine country. Especially not in the late summer months when the sky was clear and towns bustled with traders for the harvest season. Lately, those travelers and traders had been few and far between despite the late summer harvests Toussaint was undergoing for the last wines of the year. The Rose and Pine should have been raucous and crowded long before the bard and Witcher had arrived.

Biting back a frown, Lyrra flipped her tray from under her arm and gathered empty dishes left on the tables. She didn't have time to ponder the strangeness of late – work beckoned. Quite literally. She sighed quietly as she spied a hand raised for her attention. Turning, she slipped seamlessly between bodies and carried on the same routine she had been conducting for over two years. She took orders, served food and drink, bussed tables, and collected coin while returning flirtatious smiles with a polite quirk of her mouth or an offhand comment to those with whom she was more familiar. The routine settled her and it wasn't long before she managed to drown out the offkey singing or her customers.

It was perhaps because she had made herself selectively deaf that she didn't notice the boisterous choir return to a low roaring murmur. Or it could have been the hand latched tightly to her wrist that had distracted her from the general atmosphere.

"How much?"

Putrid breath made her eyes water as Lyrra took in the greasy man holding her captive. His leer left no vagueness to his question, still, she raised a brow and resisted the urge to yank her arm back, "For what?"

"You."

When his gripped tightened to pull her down onto his lap, she stiffened her legs and leaned back. Her foot rested on the leg of his stool and the sudden pressure downward made his seat wobble. He quickly lost his grip as he fought to keep his seat. To anyone looking it would merely seem as if a drunk too far into his cups lost his balance for a moment.

Lyrra took that moment to step away from his reach and smiled benignly at his scowl, "The brothel is across the road."

She stepped between tables before the letch had a chance to respond, intent on reaching the bar. Hillard was already placing her next order on a new tray.

"Now, that was clever." A dimly amused voice caught her ear.

Lyrra glanced over her shoulder to see the bard watching her with a curious smile. A faint flush painted his cheeks from his earlier performance, but it was the way his blue eyes seemed to twinkle that had her stomach suddenly twisting in knots. Oh no...

Lyrra blinked, "Sorry?"

"Your dismissal of the gentleman back there. Well, if one were to call him a gentleman, bit of a stretch if I may say so." The bard carried on as he leaned his lute against his thigh.

" ' Suppose..." Lyrra murmured quietly as she kept her gaze indifferent. She found her polite smile again as she asked, "Somethin' you need, dove?"

The bard's smile seemed to flicker as he tilted his head confusedly, "Uh ah, yes. A cup of wine when you have a moment."

"Course." She nodded already turning to gather her loaded tray.

"... And perhaps another for yourself. I'd appreciate the company." He smiled hopefully as she turned back to him abruptly, "Just conversation, I assure you."

Lyrra's found her mouth moving, but no sound emitting as she stared awkwardly at him. It wasn't often she was caught by surprise and even less often that she received such a civil offer from a man. He seemed to delight in her floundering as his smile quirked into a grin. It was the grin that kicked her brain back into gear even as she felt a blush crawling up her neck, "I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding companionship tonight. You have a room full of admirers after your performance."

She firmly clenched her drink laden tray and moved to go about him, but the bard had other ideas as he quickly stepped into her path, "And were you one of them?... My admirer, that is?"

She eyed him cautiously as she tried to quell the vivacious butterflies his attention was giving her. He didn't seem dangerous...but still, "Look, sir."

"Jaskier." the Bard blurted with what she supposed was a roguish grin, though it appeared almost nervous, "My name is Jaskier...or dove. I didn't mind when you called me that."

A smile unwilling twitched at the corners of her lips, "Jaskier -"

"And your name?" He cut her off, attempting to look innocent for the crime.

She licked her lip and shook her head amused despite herself, "Lyrra."

"Lyrra." Jaskier uttered softly, his eyes dancing merrily, "Lovely...when you get a break Lyrra, please come sit with me."

She was so very tempted to say yes to him, if only to find out why he was doggedly interested in her, but still, she hesitated, "You've drawn quite a crowd tonight, sir bard. I'll be busy for a while yet. Should I have a spare moment... I may say hello."

"You will." A grin lit his features in triumph, he sounded so certain.

Lyrra sighed exasperated, "I might."

"Oh see, you're playing hard to get, but you can't fool me. You will."

She shouldn't find his smugness as attractive as she did. Lyrra huffed a quiet laugh and passed him a wine goblet from her tray, "I won't if I don't get back to work now."

Jaskier gracefully accepted the cup, his fingers lightly brushing hers as he stepped out of her way, "I'll wait for you with bated breath."

Lyrra merely shook her head at him again as she moved back to her customers. From time to time she could feel his eyes watching her as she worked, but she refused to let herself look back. He was rather attractive, but it was easy to become bewitched by pretty smiles and even prettier words and she was sure he knew them all...bards were supposed to. Still, she wasn't looking for a mere dalliance with a man who could sing about it from here to the Dragon Mountains. Unbidden, she glanced thoughtfully over to Jaskier and found him chatting amiably with a few of the town's folk. Her regulars actually... As if sensing her gaze, he turned in time to catch her eyes. A puckish smirk pulled at his lips at having caught her in observation and she blushed heavily as she quickly returned to work.

She did not flirt well.

Willing the color in her cheeks down, she glided back to the bar to drop off the last of the dishes she had collected. Hillard was waiting for her, an appraising gleam in his chocolate eyes, "You've the minstrel unda' yer spell, Lyrra."

Again, the blush rose to her cheeks, "Stop it."

"He speaks fancy...like you." Hillard smiled slyly as he watched her squirm and glared balefully at him, "Chased the kipper out that was a botherin' ya too."

Lyrra's brow arched incredulously, "Wha..?"

The bartender snorted, "Kept knockin' into and spillin' drinks on the sod till he left in a huff. Was a laugh. For a singa, he's crafty in 'is antics, but I saw 'im."

"Does he have your seal of approval, then?" Lyrra asked somewhat sarcastically as she snuck a glance at the bard from her periphery.

"Ehh, I dunno about tha...He does travel wit a witcha." Hillard replied with a shrug, "He doesn't seem ta bad though."

Lyrra rolled her eyes and handed over the coin she had collected. She was surprised when Hillard took the coin _and_ her tray. He smirked at her before handing her a goblet of wine, "Go on. Go sit wit yer bard."

"Hillard!" Lyrra whispered in a scolding manner, feeling her cheeks burning again. "I still have tables."

Hillard waved her off, "Mirel can do 'em. She's been sittin' on her bum most o' ta night anyway. Go, his cup 'as already been topped off."

It didn't feel right to socialize with a customer when there was work to be done. Hesitantly, she wrapped her fingers around the metal goblet and willed herself to move. Panic momentarily fluttered in her chest at the thought of approaching Jaskier like this...even if he was waiting for her to do so. Instead, she slipped onto a stool not even a foot from the bar to sip at the wine. She'd freely admit she was a coward at that moment, but there was no force on earth that would get her to move. Hillard shook his head at her before taking the dishes back to the washer and she breathed a sigh of relief at having his silent judgment disappear.

"You know," Jaskier drawled lowly behind her, making her tense, "This looks suspiciously like a break, but that can't be right." He moved around to stand before her, a goblet dangling from his hand as his eyes danced with muted amusement, "I'm rather sure we agreed that you'd be sitting, and hopefully conversing with me on your break. So, tell me, lovely Lyrra, are you blatantly standing me up?"

There was a brief silence as Lyrra fought to find her voice again, "I don't recall actually agreeing to anything. I said I might say hello... Hello."

"Oh, come on!" Jaskier goaded lightly as he slid into the stool across from her, "Am I really so horrid that you won't have a simple conversation with me? Do I have horns growing out of my head? Or oh, worse is there a smell I'm emitting?" He cringed to her bemusement as he pulled the collar of his doublet towards his nose, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted that laundress not to put my clothes in the same tub as Geralt's. The stuff he comes cover back in is truly appalling."

An amused smile twitched at her lips as she watched his antics, "You don't smell...or if you do, I can't smell it from here."

Jaskier dropped his collar and tilted his head curiously at her, "Then why won't you sit with me?"

"We're sitting now." Lyrra pointed out, "Besides why do you want my company so badly?"

"The company of a beautiful lady? What kind of man would I be not to want that?" Jaskier murmured charmingly with a soft smile.

It was a very practiced line to Lyrra's ears, however. She smiled ruefully at him, "You know, you can easily find that company - "

"Across the road, at the brothel." Jaskier said with her.

Lyrra blinked and he grinned, "How'd I know you were going to say that? There's more than one way for a man to enjoy a woman's company, you know?"

She shook her head at him, "You're very strange."

"And you're intriguing." He shot back with a sip of his wine, only to sit up in alarm as she moved to stand, "Wha - wait, where are you going?"

Lyrra turned her goblet upside down to show him an empty glass. Her stomach was in butterflies again as his suddenly indecipherable gaze fell heavy on her, "Wine's gone. Which means my break is over. Goodnight, Jaskier."

"You don't play fair, Lyrra." Jaskier intoned sulkily and she bit back a smile as she realized he was pouting.

"I have no reason to play fair." Lyrra murmured back, "No, woman does."

An impish spark lit his azure orbs, "That's true. Can I walk you home? Once you're done that is."

She shook her head in answer and stepped away to find her tray again, his eyes burned into her back as she did so. Almost unwillingly she caught his gaze over her shoulder and sent him an impish smile of her own. Somehow, she didn't think the bard would be giving up on his conversation so easily.


	2. Or Dove

**Or Dove...**

It was the low murmur of voices and the rather ominous thunking of feet on floorboards that woke Jaskier. For a dull moment, he thought Geralt had returned from... wherever the fuck he had flitted off to. To be honest, he hadn't paid much attention. After three weeks without a bed, a bath, or a decent meal for that matter – despite what Geralt thought he was not a culinary wizard – Jaskier had been far more focused on enjoying the simple pleasures of which he had been deprived and those pleasures did not include traipsing back out into the wild to find some Gods forsaken creature that could, quite possibly, rend him limb from bloody limb.

Opening blurry eyes, he cast about the room for the hulking form of his friend and frowned when he saw no one. It took longer than he would like to admit before he realized that the noise he was hearing was coming from outside his room. Sitting up, his head pulsed with a faint pain and he groaned, quietly remembering the amount of wine he had imbued the night before. He had to hand it to the Toussaint province when they set out to make wine. They made bloody good wine.

A soft yawn unfurled from his lips and he squinted almost peevishly at the light shining in through the window. It had to be a little before midday, his late-night had ensured that he had most certainly missed breakfast. Biting back another yawn, Jaskier slowly went about his usual morning ablutions. He had to admit it was rather nice not to have a pair of golden eyes silently observing his usual rituals, also a little lonely, but that was not something he wanted to dwell on too closely. He and Geralt had basically been living in each other's pockets lately, time apart was more than needed. And yet...

Jaskier sighed quietly as he finished dressing and headed for the door. He supposed that it was time for him to resurface to reality and sniff out whatever it was that had his companion traipsing through wine country. Hopefully, it was a search for a good bottle of Bordeaux, though unlikely. It didn't take long for him to find the inn empty of its keeper as he made his way outside, his stomach rumbling. The first point of order was to track down some food before he went in search of information. It was still a tad early for a midday meal, but he was sure he could find something at the local markets to nibble on.

...Well, market was a strong term he supposed as he looked about.

While Glynedol was not exactly a one-road town, it came rather close. It seemed the road that he and Geralt had come in on was the main road through the town. It had the inn, the tavern, and the brothel all within a few metres of each other. It looked like there was an apothecary not too far down, as well as a cobbler and smithy a little further from that. His stomach twisted with a faint nauseous hunger and Jaskier had to wonder why he hadn't seen any stalls set up for traders. It was harvest season, after all. Usually, vendors would be selling their wares at any small spit such as this little town. Frowning, he glanced about and realized that there weren't many people about either. He could understand most working the fields of their farms for the last bits of produce before autumn, but surely it was getting late enough and certainly warm enough in the day for more to be taking a break and heading into the local watering hole for a respite. It was all a bit... odd.

"Nigel, you can't keep doing this. Not with winter on the way."

Jaskier perked up as a familiar voice caught his attention. The barmaid. Lyrra. She might be willing to guide him about. His eyes quickly scanned the sides of the road but saw neither hide nor hair of her.

A low rumble seemed to answer her back and Jaskier found himself detouring down a side alley by the brothel. He turned a corner and found his lovely maiden knelt down before a slovenly mess of a man. With her back to him, he silently took in her form. Gone was the headscarf she had wrapped around her head the night prior and he could see luscious chestnut hair tethered in a loose braid. The loose frock and apron she wore as she had worked were replaced by a more form-fitting dress. It was simple in style, but he found he far preferred it to her other ensemble.

"What would Mae say if she saw you now?" Lyrra murmured softly as she tried to coax the man slumped against the wall to stand.

The man's hazy green eyes landed on Jaskier and the bard could tell that the man was drunker than a skunk. Still, he had enough wherewithal to nod at him, "Who's 'e?"

"Wh-?" Lyrra started to ask as she turned, obviously expecting no one as her soft grey eyes widen at the sight of Jaskier. She frowned slightly at him before plastering on a soft smile for the drunkard, "He's a bard. One that has a future as a thief with the way he sneaks about."

"I don't know if I'm offended or flattered by that comment." Jaskier muttered thoughtfully as he stepped up next to her, "Do I not get an introduction, as well?"

A flash of exasperation crossed her features and he hid a smile as she gestured down to her friend, "Jaskier, this is Nigel. Nigel, Jaskier. We'll be on our way now."

Jaskier smirked at her none too subtle hint to go away and glanced at Nigel. He wrinkled his nose and hummed, "Hmmm, will you though?"

Lyrra frowned and looked to see that Nigel had passed out during her introduction. A sigh of weariness escaped her as she knelt again to shake her friend awake with little luck. Jaskier raised a brow at her efforts, "Oh, leave him here, Lyrra. He can sleep it off in the alley just as easily a bed."

"He's been out here all night." She mumbled, her disapproving tone matching the glare she threw over her shoulder at him.

He shrugged, "And somehow he's been left alone... well, till you came along that is. Besides, he'll probably regret the state he is in now more if he were to wake up in a filthy alley than if he were to wake in a warm bed. Less likely for a repeat performance this way."

"That's rather unlikely." Lyrra uttered quietly as she patted the man's cheek, "Come on, Nigel. Just a few minutes and you can sleep again, dove."

"Always been my experience." Jaskier stated blandly as he continued to watch.

"And has it been your experience to drink yourself dumb to ease the pain of your wife's passing?" Lyrra questioned echoing his tone as she stood to face him, "Somehow, I think grief wins over discomfort."

"Ahh." Jaskier's amusement at the situation dropped as a tendril of remorse curled in his gut. Pity flared to life in his heart for the stranger as he resisted the urge to squirm under Lyrra's indifferent gaze. He sighed, "All right."

Jaskier quickly took up Lyrra's previous position before the grieving widower. His hand reached out and quickly found the hollow above the man's collar bone before pressing in and curling his finger over the bone with a decent amount of force. Nigel spasmed and jerked awake from the attack on his pressure point, green eyes wide in betrayed bafflement. Jaskier found he couldn't blame him for that look. Geralt had used that particular move on him enough that he was familiar with the sensation that had shot through Nigel's body. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was definitely not pleasurable. Quickly before Nigel had a chance to gather his bearings to slip back off again, Jaskier tugged his arm up and over his shoulders forcing the drunk to stand.

"Don't you dare throw up on me." The bard threatened with a wince as he finally caught wind of the noxious fumes of alcohol coming off the other man's body. Gods, if he hadn't fucking smelled last night, he surely did now. All this on an empty stomach too. He raised an expectant brow as Lyrra gawked at him, "Where to?"

She started slightly and waved a hand down the alley, "This way."

Jaskier grunted softly, channeling his inner Geralt as he half dragged Nigel down the alley. To his surprise, it really wasn't terribly far before they stopped again. He had been prepared to go a few blocks at least. Not less than fifteen metres or so. He was sure his brows were touching his hairline as he realized what door they were stopped in front of, "He's drunker than a fish in an ocean and you want to leave him in a brothel? I don't know if this man will love you or hate you for that."

A light flush suddenly coated her cheeks as she looked away embarrassed but still, she knocked at the wooden door. A second later the entry was thrown open and a stern older woman peered out. Jaskier tried not to cringe under her heavy stare, even as he quirked a small grin at her. It was a wonder this place got any business if men had to go through that battleaxe of a woman. Yet the moment she laid eyes on Lyrra she softened before peering more intently at the form now dangling into Jaskier's side.

"Again?"

Lyrra nodded quietly and the older woman sighed, "Come on, then."

She stepped aside and began to cluck like an old mother hen. Jaskier listened passively as she pestered Lyrra about being too kindhearted and reiterated a variant of what he had suggested earlier. Leave Nigel to whatever bed he made, essentially. As the drunk began to weigh more heavily on his shoulders, Jaskier was silently inclined to agree. In his periphery, he could see women in various states of undress as they moved down a hall lined with doors. Most ignored the small group, while a few waved at Lyrra and offered a sympathetic smile. He was sure it was the first time in his life he had ever been so soundly ignored by a group of whores. He itched with the desire to check his pockets and make sure his coin hadn't been lifted without his notice.

" 'Ere we are. Jus lay 'im on the bed, luv." The matron said stoutly with a nod forward.

Jaskier basically dropped the man once he was close enough and breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the sudden lack of weight.

"We got 'im now petal. Don't ya worry none."

Jaskier turned in time to catch Lyrra's grateful smile and the subtle palming of a few coins before he fell under the matron's stern glare. A ribald comment was poised on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly felt delicate fingers tugging him away and back outside. He eyed the woman before him with renewed curiosity, "Well, that was an adventure. You're welcome by the way."

Lyrra paused and gazed at him uncertainly for a moment before she offered him a rueful smile, "Thank you for helping."

Jaskier smiled faintly, "Yes, well who am I to deny a damsel in distress?"

He swore she rolled her eyes though her smile never diminished. She caught him by surprise though as she tilted her head curiously at him, "You seem to be coming to my rescue quite a bit it seems."

"Oh?" Jaskier questioned in confusion. His mind raced as he tried to place what other time he had come to her aid.

"Hillard told me you chased out the man who propositioned me last night." She reminded him quietly.

It was his turn to blush, as he felt an unfamiliar heat creep into his cheeks, "Oh er um... Your barkeep saw that, did he?"

Lyrra nodded, "He said you gave him a good laugh."

Well, that was something at least, Jaskier thought woefully, though silently relieved that his childish antics hadn't brought him scorn from either the lady or the barkeep.

"Though I do have to ask. Are you following me?"

Jaskier blinked and smirked, "Why? Do you want me to go? You wound me so, lovely Lyrra. Your attentions are rather hard-won. Especially, after lugging a man down an alley for you."

His eyes twinkled mischievously as she blushed and lightly scowled at him. It was fun to get a reaction from her. She shook her head in exasperation or amusement he wasn't sure which, perhaps both as she replied, "That wasn't what I meant and you know it. The tavern was one thing. I work at the Rose and Pine and you happened to be performing there. But now...?"

In truth, he hadn't been looking for her. He hadn't given her much thought beyond a trifling disappointment at a potential tryst thwarted and an interesting conversation lost. Though the conversation part had been regained it seemed. Yet, he could give her a more playful charming answer, "This morning more like for some of us. When I heard your voice dance across the air, I couldn't help but follow its lead. Much like following a siren's call."

"... You use such pretty words." She surprised him again when he caught the disappointment seeping in her grey orbs like storm clouds. She fixed that polite smile he had received before... the one he had noticed she gave to overly-friendly, but strange customers. It was like seeing a physical manifestation of Geralt's silent glare that said he was now merely tolerating whoever was before him. Usually, it was Jaskier.

"Huh. I – I don't think I've ever heard someone say that like it was an insult before." He murmured with a furrowed brow, feeling like he was losing his grip on...on something.

Lyrra shrugged indifferently, "So what were you really doing this morning then?"

Jaskier stared as he realized that it wasn't that he was losing his grip, but that she could see through his bullshit. Bollocks, "I was looking for some food. An apple or something to nibble on. Rather surprised there weren't merchants anywhere on the street, actually."

As if realizing it herself, she glanced about the street they were drifting down. A frown tugged at her lips, "It has been strange lately."

Her voice was barely louder than a whispered, but Jaskier still caught her words. Maybe this was why Geralt had been so twitchy. Maybe he had sensed something was off with Glynedol – now Jaskier wished he had paid a little more attention to his friend's brief explanations, "Strange how?"

Lyrra shook her head, "Just quiet. Fewer people. Usually, the town is bustling with activity this time of year...it's hard to explain. Your singing brought in more people to the tavern than I had seen in a while."

"Huh." Jaskier huffed, suddenly at a loss for those pretty words she mentioned earlier. He had no idea of what to make of her information or what it could possibly have to do with Geralt's latest venture.

She seemed to sense this as she touched his elbow and nodded behind her, "Come on, let's get you some food."

"Oh yes, that – that is a golden plan right there, that is." He uttered delightedly before his stomach reaffirmed its starved state with a loud gurgle. She snickered softly and his lips quirked as a sinful comment fell from his lips, "Help me sate my body's hunger, lovely Lyrra."

There was no doubt that she rolled her eyes this time as she led the way back to the tavern.

* * *

"Where is your companion?" Lyrra asked lowly as she placed a small bowl of stew before him.

Once they had entered the Rose and Pine, she had disappeared into the back, only to reappear as she had the previous night. Jaskier had felt mild disappointment at the sight of her work frock and headscarf. While practical, he would rather see her lovely hair falling loose from her braid and skimming the small strip of flesh above the neckline of her other gown than this sack of a monstrosity. He said none of this as he munched slowly on his stew.

After a thoughtful moment and under the pressure of her expectant gaze, he shrugged, "Not terribly sure actually. I was more enamored with finding water for a bath when he departed. I saw Roach stabled at the back of the inn still... He couldn't have gone far."

"Roach?"

"His horse." Jaskier clarified with a hint of envy as he thought of his other defacto traveling companion. Should Geralt ever feel the need to ditch him, Roach's disappearance would be his clue, "Geralt loves that beast more than himself. He wouldn't leave her alone for long."

A soft smile crossed Lyrra's lips at this profession. Quietly, she slid into the seat across from him. It was funny, when he wasn't actively pursuing her attention, she seemed not to mind giving it to him, "What's that look then?"

Lyrra blinked and looked at him questionably, "What look?"

"That smile for Geralt's bestial obsession." Jaskier said with a small grin. Had the Witcher been nearby he would have been smacked upside the head for that little comment.

Lyrra shrugged, "Whether a beast of burden or a furry companion, I think it's rather telling of a person on how they treat their pets. Your Geralt seems to be a decent sort at the very least."

Jaskier snorted in amusement, though he couldn't disagree. For as gruff and sinister and outright bloody rude his friend could be, he was more honest and decent than most, "Yes, he is at the _very least_ decent."

She cast him an indecipherable look and he merely smiled back. Finishing his stew, he took the time to really study her. It had been something of game, the previous night to court her attention. She had flitted about the tavern like she was dancing on wind. Her service was so smooth that he hadn't even noticed her until the incident with the leering scruff. Her handling of it had been just as graceful and if he hadn't been standing behind her at the time, he never would have noticed the man's untoward forwardness.

He wasn't sure what had possessed him to comment on it to her, but then she had turned to him. Her grey orbs had shown like stars shining through stormy skies and he had been captivated. She was pretty. Her beauty understated, but nonetheless present as his interest in her continued to climb. It had also helped that Jaskier had caught the interest in her gaze as well. He knew attraction when he saw it. He had been put off when she hadn't acted on hers, however. As fun as it had been to pull blushes to her unblemished cheeks, he hadn't expected to be so thoroughly stonewalled. Admittedly, her reluctance to have anything to do with him was still rather entertaining.

He wondered distantly if there was a word for finding such abhorrence to his person attractive. He was sure it said something about him at any rate, but that too was not something he wanted to dwell on. Instead, he turned his focus back on Lyrra, "So... barmaid, then?... Um, how did you find yourself in that profession?"

He nearly grimaced at how bumbling that had come out. She stared at him silently for a moment, amusement crinkling at the corner of her eyes before saying so dryly, "Well, queen seemed to be taken and I wasn't much for whoring. You?"

"Same." He uttered amusedly, preening when she smiled in quiet laughter.

She shook her head at him and moved to stand, "I need to start getting ready for the dinner hour. Thank you for your help today, sir bard."

"Jaskier, Lyrra." He corrected, longing to hear her recite his name in a more intimate setting.

She smirked, a faint blush appearing as she threw over her shoulder, "Or dove, right?"

Well, well. He grinned in delight at her parting shot and vowed to get her to spend her spare time with him as the night wore on.


	3. Dithering Darkness

**Dithering Darkness**

"You are a very hard person to track down."

Lyrra held in a huff of exasperation as an all too familiar voice greeted her. She had taken less than a step into the Rose and Pine before being accosted. Wearily, she turned around to see Jaskier lounging against the wall with a pint in hand. His expression smug as if he were a cat that had just caught the bird. It was as annoying as it was endearing. She arched a brow at him before continuing for the kitchens, "Apparently not hard enough."

Heavier footsteps followed her.

"Don't you want to know why I was looking for you?" Jaskier queried expectantly.

"Not really." Lyrra responded glibly and came to an abrupt stop, Jaskier barely kept himself from crashing into her as she turned to give him a pointed look. He blinked confused before realizing they were at the threshold for the tavern's kitchen. She smiled as he frowned at her, "I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

She stepped over the threshold and immediately turned left passing through the curtained door of a small pantry. She left her spare clothes on a shelf near the bottom. Unconsciously, she began to undress before remembering her handsome stalker. She eyed the curtain warily before letting her dress drop to the floor. An audible inhale reached her ears and she bit the inside of her cheek but refused to acknowledge the thrill that tore through her veins at the sound, "I swear, Bard, if you're looking..."

"Oh relax. The curtain stops at your lovely calves which are covered by boots sadly. I simply wasn't expecting you to disrobe... Though, do you really have to wear that dreadful frock?"

Lyrra rolled her eyes, "Yes, I have only two dresses, Jaskier, and I do not want them ruined by sloshed ale or food remnants. Not to mention men don't seem to notice me as much in this frock."

Jaskier snorted faintly, "Trust me, you're still noticeable."

"You're impossible."

"Thank you."

Lyrra shook her head ruefully as she finished donning her dress and apron. This would be Jaskier's fourth night performing at the Rose and Pine and he had done wonders in bringing the locals and the few travelers Glynedol had inside for some entertainment. To be fair, the lack of merchants had most in the town starved for news and stories from other regions and the bard had those in spades it seemed. She had been kept busy by the crowds, but somehow, someway when she had a spare minute to breathe, Jaskier always managed to appear at her side. Much to her relief, he had stopped with his more flowery comments. Instead, she was partied to his more jocular observations, usually about the Rose's audience or the town, sometimes about his companion, almost never about himself. At least nothing personal that couldn't be gleaned by a few moments in his presence, but in fairness, he never asked her anything terribly personal either. She was grateful for that...

She snatched her scarf and began wrapping it around her head as she stepped out of the pantry. Jaskier watched her practiced movements with keen eyes, "Let me guess, my headscarf bothers you too."

He grinned impishly, "Everything you wear bothers me, but I doubt you'll alleviate my pain by disrobing again."

Lyrra flushed, knowing that was exactly what he had been hoping for by the way his eyes danced. Incorrigible flirt was what he was – and if he hadn't also shown signs of being astonishingly sweet then Lyrra wouldn't have put up with his attentions, "You know where the brothel is."

"And subject myself to Madam Hatchet." Jaskier replied with a raised brow, "No, thank you."

Lyrra sent him a disapproving look at the harsh description of the Le Fleur's owner, "Madam Tyssa is actually rather kind. Just because she hasn't aged well, doesn't mean she deserves those comments."

Far from being chastised, Jaskier gave her a pointed look as he recalled his one and only trip inside the brothel, "Oh yes, that's why you had to pay her to look after your drunken friend now, was it? Did that from the deep caverns of her heart, I'm sure."

Lyrra's grey orbs widened slightly, not realizing that Jaskier had seen the exchange of money – even if he was wrong about the cause for the payment, "That coin wasn't for Nigel, but for a different service. Is there -"

His finger shot up as he realized she was about to change the subject; an expression of pure curiosity painted his face. Lyrra nearly groaned as she saw the cogs turning in his head as he interrupted her, "Whoa -ho, hang on a minute. You are not honestly going to just glide past that particular comment. What services did _you_ require from a brothel?"

"None of your business." Lyrra retorted lightly as she fought back a smile. His azure gaze outright gleamed with entertainment and it was hard not to be pulled in by his infectious emotions, "I have work to do."

"Oh please, tell me it was something utterly scandalous and naughty with one of those skimpily clad women." Jaskier pressed, not the least bit dissuaded as she walked away from him. "Don't tell me it was Madam Hatchet."

Lyrra shook her head in amusement, "Absolutely impossible. You're ridiculous."

"A man can dream and this one will." He sounded entirely too satisfied as he trailed after her.

It was early afternoon, far earlier than she usually came in and if Lyrra was being honest she had arrived early to see if Jaskier was about. As much as she didn't want to encourage him, her life was a little less dull when he was around. As it stood, there weren't many people to serve yet. Mirel, for once, was doing her job and serving the customers and Hillard was overseeing preparations in the kitchen. The only thing she could do was wipe down tables, "I thought you had something to tell me?"

Jaskier blinked for a moment before remembering his earlier words to her, "And I thought you didn't want to know."

Lyrra raised a disbelieving brow but refrained from comment as she grabbed a rag from behind the bar. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Jaskier did not care for silences. He filled the void with words and songs, half of it was nonsense – but, she figured if Jaskier ever found himself in a position to be tortured, the torturer wouldn't need to do much, just remain silent and the bard would either spill everything or talk the man in circles. True to form, Jaskier fidgeted and began talking again, "Not so much something to tell you, but ask."

Lyrra paused in her movements. The old rag trapped between her hand and the bar as she turned an awaiting gaze in his direction. He fidgeted again, "I hear tell that sometimes you act as a laundress in this fair town for some extra coin."

There was a beat of silence.

"You want me to wash your clothes." She stated bluntly, but then took the time to actually study him. He was clean, hair swept to the side even as an errant tendril fell over his forehead. His doublet was a little mused, but not terribly dirty – then she noticed the lack of a white-collar that usually peaked out from his doublet. Surprisingly, he kept still under her evaluation– a sheepish smile twitching at the corners of his lips as she stated more than asked, "You're not wearing a shirt, are you?"

"Uh, well no..." Jaskier answered as he rocked back on his heels, "I haven't been able to find the innkeeper since taking my room, otherwise I'd ask him about such services. I'd pay you, of course."

Lyrra frowned briefly at the comment. Owain, the innkeeper, was a regular of the Rose and Pine, it was unlike him to neglect his guests. Actually, now that she thought of it, he hadn't been in for a few days. Concern churned her gut but she masked it with a faint smile, "If you have it all together, I can stop by your room after I'm done here tonight and pick it up and drop it by tomorrow once it's done."

Jaskier sighed in relief, "Thank the gods. You are a star in the dithering blackness. Your name-"

"It's still going to be four crowns, Jaskier." Lyrra cut his flattery tirade off dryly as she resumed wiping the bar.

"Four crowns! Now, hold on – the other barmaid said you charge two!" Jaskier protested, his mouth turning into an incredulous frown.

Lyrra shrugged and reached across the bar to tug at the sleeve of his doublet, "Most of the townsfolk wear light cottons and wools. Quick and easy to wash. You're wearing silks and velvets which require more care. Unless you want your clothes ruined then I can do a basic wash."

He didn't know that she usually charged the locals only a few coppers or an exchange of food for this service. Travelers were charged two crowns as Mirel had told him. She would charge three for the fancier fabrics, but she had seen the amount of coin that Jaskier had pulled and knew he could well afford more than four crowns.

"No..." He drawled sulkily as he eyed her suspiciously, "Highway robbery is what this is. Four crowns for a bloody washing, now who's being ridiculous."

Lyrra snickered quietly and bestowed him with a smug grin, "Still you."

* * *

It wasn't until Lyrra was standing outside the inn that she realized the mistake she had made. Jaskier had only performed a few songs that night, much preferring to mingle with a few of the new travelers, swapping stories and news from other regions. He had also spent a good deal of time by himself, scribbling in a little journal he carried. It was the only time she had seen him so... quiet. As a result, he had been by her side within moments after she had finished her rounds for the night. Hillard had promised to take care of the last few patrons hanging around the pub.

Now, she eyed the bard carefully as they made their way inside. He hadn't done more than give her a passing smile since they had left. No quips about coming to his room, or flirtatious comments about staying for a bit. She found it odd. After all, he hadn't really missed an opportunity the past few days to play the role of the charming scoundrel.

"Are you okay?" Lyrra questioned quietly, not sure if she wanted to disturb the unusual passivity she was observing.

Jaskier blinked for a moment, as if remembering she was there, before smiling reassuringly, "I'm fine. Just tired I suppose." He stopped before a door and drew a key from his pocket. He paused, "Wait here, I need to change."

She quirked a brow, once again struck by the lack of innuendo. He stepped inside, but just as the door was about to close, he caught it and flashed her a small grin, "Unless of course, you'd like to join me."

Lyrra nearly sighed in relief at that comment, even as she shook her head at him, "Jaskier."

"Didn't think so." He stated mournfully and let the door shut.

She covered her face as she snorted in amusement. He truly was ridiculous.

And quick.

Lyrra didn't have to wait long at all before, Jaskier was pulling the door open again. He had on a loose white linen shirt that looked a size too big for him and a pair of brown cotton breeches that had seen better days and strangely looked a little tight on him. She tilted her head curiously as she studied him, "Are those even your clothes?"

Jaskier glanced up at her as he sat on the edge of his bed. His hands were already tugging his boots back on as he shrugged, "The shirts not, but my trousers are. Why? Do they not look like something I'd wear? I know they're a little plainer than what you've seen me in -"

"They don't fit." Lyrra cut in as she purposefully kept her gaze on his face and not his too-tight breeches.

Jaskier paused in consideration before making a face that said, 'that's fair'. He finished lacing his boots and grabbed his knapsack filled with his dirty clothes. He had only discovered that morning how vastly disgusting his wardrobe had become. He nearly cursed the last laundress, before remembering it had been several weeks since he had last seen a laundress, "Alright, let's go."

"Go?" Lyrra intoned lowly as she held out a hand for his bag, "I do believe you're at your room – unless you intend to go back to the brothel in which case, by all means. Just pass me your bag first."

"Uh, no." It was a strange battle of wills as Jaskier crossed his arms and met her stare head-on. While she was becoming annoyed, he was amused, "It's late and I told your barkeep I would see you safely home tonight. Apparently, that's something he does quite often. Now, you wouldn't want to make me break my word, would you?"

Lyrra blinked, this was the second time he had alluded to asking after her and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She frowned, "I won't tell, if you don't."

"I will. Bard, remember." He replied joyfully before snagging her still outstretched hand and pulling her out the door, "Now, where to?"

"Jaskier." Lyrra huffed exasperated and tried to reach up and pull the strap of his bag from his shoulder.

He dodged out of her way with a laugh, "No, that's my name, not a direction. Think of it this way, you now know where I'm staying – it's only fair I get to see where you live."

Lyrra rolled her eyes and turned to stomp away from, "Are you always this annoyingly stubborn?"

"Ha, that's a laugh coming from you. Pot and kettle, darling."

He was unscathed by the glower she sent in his direction. Despite her reluctant mien, if she had been truly aggrieved by his presence, he would have left her in Hillard's capable hands. Though, he had the feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to the implication that she needed protection. Most of their trip was spent bickering, it was only when they left the edges of Glynedol that Lyrra's pace began to slow and Jaskier took notice of their surroundings.

"I didn't realize you lived so far from town." Jaskier murmured as they approached a dirt path.

Lyrra hummed and gave him a pointed glance, "You've seen for yourself that Glynedol isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. Most of us live on the edges or on farms. My home is not too much further. Just to the end of this path."

Tall grassy fields lined either side of their walk and Jaskier could spot patches of yellow mustard flowers, even in the dark. Ahead a large oak tree caught his attention, Lyrra watched as he took in the rope dangling listlessly from the branches, "They haven't removed it from the last hanging."

Jaskier blanched and turned wide eyes on her, "What?"

"It was a real shame." She murmured quietly; her gaze solemn. Jaskier's mouth moved soundlessly as he tried to find what words he wanted to ask first. Lyrra turned to him, "If only he hadn't pestered the local barmaid so much."

Jaskier's gaze narrowed and Lyrra burst into a fit of laughter, unable to keep a straight face any longer, "It's just a swing, Jaskier."

As if to prove her words, she jogged forward and stepped onto the wooden plank that acted as a seat. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he dropped his sack against the tree trunk and gave the ropes a slight pull, casting her forward, "You are absolutely a terror. I bet you were a terror as a child."

She smiled impishly at him, "Could say the same of you, I bet."

"More like terrified, than terror." Jaskier muttered sardonically. He surprised her when the swing came towards him again and instead of giving a slight push to the ropes, he stepped onto the plank with her. His foot sandwiched between hers, his hands gripping the rope just above her fingers as they continued to swing lazily. He smiled roguishly, "Hello."

"Hello." Lyrra had muffled her gasp at having him so close and found her voice to be a little breathier than she had intended. Heat began to fill her cheeks and she tried to find the strength to let go of the rope and step away, but she was caught. Made immobile by curious sparkling blue eyes and a smile so gentle, that she wondered if he knew what she was thinking.

It didn't matter, as Jaskier leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against hers. When Lyrra didn't rebuke him, he pressed forward and claimed a true kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut and she hummed softly at the lush feel of his lips. This was good... it felt right and that surprised her enough to draw back slightly.

Jaskier didn't seem to notice her sudden hesitation as he rested his head against hers, "I have been waiting four days to do that."

Lyrra smiled even as she stated, "I'm not sleeping with you."

"Don't ruin the moment."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and stepped back to the ground. His other hand dove into her thick locks as soon as they were settled safely and he stole another kiss. This one deeper, more passionate and Lyrra found her hands smoothing a path across his taut stomach as she became lost in his touch. He tasted of ale and mint, and he felt solid and strong... safe.

She groaned as he pulled away and turned his attentions to her neck, "Jaskier, we should stop."

He pressed a lingering kiss at the corner of her jaw and eyed her carefully, "Hearing you moan my name like that is absolutely delicious. Now you just need to change the ones that follow..."

"Jaskier." She breathed a laugh.

"Yes, just like that." He grinned and claimed her lips again.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that, simply kissing. It could have been a few minutes or an hour, she knew she didn't want to stop, even as a little voice in the back of her head reminded her of the late hour. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him and he sighed in acceptance.

She grabbed his bag before he had a chance to and turned with crossed arms. It was her barrier, feeble as it was, "It's probably best if I continue on from here and you head back."

"Hmm." He hummed, not inclined to agree as he mimicked her position, "Only if I can have one last taste of your sweet lips."

Lyrra hesitated, suspicious, "And you'll go?"

He nodded benignly.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward and pull his head down to meet hers – this time she was the one claiming the kiss as he pulled her into his body. Silky, her thoughts offered faintly as her fingers entwined his hair. Dimly, she was aware of the strap to his bag falling to her wrist as she clenched at his shirt. It only took a faint nip and a gasp on her part, before she realized that the strap hadn't so much as fallen, as Jaskier had maneuvered it onto his shoulder. She peered at him thru mockingly narrowed eyes, "Sneak."

He grinned smugly, "Well you did say, I had a future as a thief." He grabbed her hand before she had a chance to take the bag back and turned her back towards the path, "Lead on, Lyrra."

They hadn't made twenty steps when Lyrra broke away from him with a gasp, "Oh my..."

He frowned and followed her into the fields, not seeing what had her attention until he looked down. Lying on the ground was the large form of a wounded man. The undeniable shock of white hair was all Jaskier needed to see to know who he was staring at. Geralt lay face down, blood seeped from his neck and back. Lyrra quickly pulled her scarf from her pocket to try and stem the flow. She looked up panicked as Jaskier muttered, "Bollocks."


	4. Of Whispers and Wishes

**Of Whispers and Wishes**

There were voices distant and fading.

He wasn't alone.

His fingers twitched for his sword, but he found he couldn't move... He couldn't see...

Again, he heard the whispers. Quicker this time like the rush of a wind gust.

He wasn't alone.

_Geralt..._

He knew that voice.

_Geralt..._

_Leave him. He needs to rest..._

He was tired. So very tired, but he couldn't rest just yet. He fought to open his eyes, to gain purchase of his surroundings. He needed that knowledge. Knowledge was power. Knowledge was safety.

Where the fuck was he?

_Geralt, wake up you oversized log._

_Jaskier._

Jaskier. The bard, a dim sense of relief flowed through him as he finally placed that voice. Jaskier potentially meant safe... Or trapped. Gods be damned if he needed to save them both when he woke. The voices drifted away and he was left feeling cold before the darkness swallowed him again.

* * *

The next time awareness clawed at his senses something wet was being pressed against his neck. The sensation was not pleasant and instinctively he reacted to the threat as a flair of pain tore down his flesh and into the muscles of his back. His hand closed around a slim throat and his golden eyes flew open only seconds later, just as a choked cry reached his ears. Startled grey eyes glared into his as he felt tugging at his clenched hand.

He only had time to register the woman's face before she was ripped away from him. A bolt of shock slammed through him as her visage was replaced by a more familiar pair of blue eyes and a rush of words that he couldn't quite catch.

Jaskier.

The bard was torn between concern and wariness as they eyed each other, "Have you come to your senses?"

That Geralt finally understood as he slowly nodded. His gaze flickered to the figure hiding in Jaskier's shadow. Grey eyes shined leerily at him and he couldn't fault her hesitation, even as his earlier shock returned in full force.

Renfri.

He was staring at a ghost.

Jaskier shifted more fully into his view, effectively blocking the girl. It was a protective stance, Geralt recognized it instantly and nearly raised a brow, "Where am I?"

Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, "In the home of the woman you almost just killed. We really need to work on your manners."

Geralt grimaced slightly and sought out his hostess again. He had killed her. Except... her coloring was wrong. Her eyes. Her hair... Jaskier didn't seem inclined to move from his view until a set of slim fingers tugged at his arm and sent him a reproachful look. She spoke quietly, her voice a little hoarse, "He wasn't aware of what he was doing, Jaskier. I should have been more gentle than I was, I probably hurt him."

Jaskier snorted but slumped to sit on the corner of the bed. His attention now on the woman as he eyed her throat in concern. Already the faint gleam of bruising was beginning to arise and Geralt felt a slim tendril of guilt twist in his gut, but even then, he couldn't stop staring at her in wonder.

"You recognize me." She stated more than asked as she pulled over a bowl that held a damp rag.

He raised a brow and tilted his head to give her better access to the wound he could feel throbbing, "You look like someone that I knew."

She didn't seem surprised as she nodded and continued her ministrations. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jaskier frown in confusion as he observed the pair, "And who pray tell, would that be, Geralt? While we're at it, where the hell have you been? And what attacked you?"

His only response was a swift glare as he asked, "How long have I been gone?"

"Oh yes, let's ignore all my questions like they have no bloody bearing at all." Jaskier scoffed indignantly and stood from the bed to storm over to the window in a tiff.

A smile twitched at the woman's lips as she watched the bard's dramatics, "Jaskier..."

"Don't Jaskier, me." He imparted sulkily as he turned to give her a sullen glare, "Two days I've spent with you chastising me."

She shook her head in exasperation and rolled her eyes as she met Geralt's stare again, "He's been worried about you and driving me mad at the same time."

Another scoff sounded from the window, but both the witcher and the woman ignored it, "We found you two nights ago when Jaskier was walking me home."

Geralt couldn't help the sage look he leveled at her. He knew what Jaskier's penchant for acting the gentleman usually resulted in. A light flush entered her cheeks as she caught his silent insinuation, but she continued, "Jaskier performed at the Rose and Pine for three nights prior to that – So about five days since you've seen your barker, I'd wager. However, Jaskier is right, we do need some answers. What has attacked you and should we still be worried about it?"

She even sounded like Renfri.

"Jaskier and I were being stalked on our way into Glynedol." Geralt rumbled.

"We were what?" Jaskier squawked with wide eyes, "Why am -"

"It was a fleder. There was a pair of them preying on travelers from Toussiant." The Witcher continued ignoring his companion, "I've dispatched both, but not before one managed to cleave into my armor. You should have no further worries."

He had been annoyed when he felt the leather begin to rent. It would take more coin then he could spare to get it fixed. The woman nodded and finished bandaging his wound, "Good... You're lucky to be alive after losing as much blood you did. You should rest for a few more days before trying to stand."

"Hmm. Thank you." Geralt grunted in acknowledgment, he caught her wrist when she moved to stand, "What's your name?"

"Lyrra." She offered after a moment's hesitation. She began to gather her supplies, now avoiding his stare.

"You seemed to expect me to know you."

Lyrra paused as she looked at him contemplatively, "Not exactly."

There was a long silence as they studied each other. Geralt's mind raced with the puzzle she presented. The familiarity in her features almost hurt, "You knew her... You were family?"

Again, there was no question.

"She was my sister." Lyrra said softly, "You wouldn't be the first to confuse me for her."

Geralt stiffened, guilt and regret churned his gut, but so did wariness. He had killed her sister, after all.

Jaskier remained uncharacteristically quiet as tension abruptly drowned the room. His gaze flicked between the pair.

As if suddenly realizing what he must be thinking, Lyrra smiled softly... bitterly, "If you're expecting me to avenge her, you'll be waiting a long time."

Geralt shook his head, ignoring the twinge from doing so, "You could have killed me while I was unconscious."

"Yes." Lyrra uttered demurely, a tired pain lingered behind her eyes, "So what are you expecting?"

There was silence.

"I don't know." Geralt murmured softly. He hadn't expected her passivity, that was for damn sure, "Not this."

Lyrra snorted, suddenly amused, "Well... that makes two us."

In that moment, Geralt knew he had nothing to fear from her. She looked like her sister, she sounded like her... but she was different. Calm where Renfri had been wild. There had been an edge to Renfri's every action, almost an unpredictability that reminded him of fire. She was fierce in her pain and even more so in her anger.

"I suppose I should thank you." Lyrra stated, nearly startling him from his musings, "She knew she would die that day, but... You still tried to save her. Even when she was gone, you tried to save her. For that I thank you. - Her body was never dissected by Stregobor. I saw to that."

Marilka no longer had quite such a pretty face.

A sense of relief filled him at that knowledge and pity, "You were there."

Lyrra nodded, "She hid me in the rooms above the market. I was nine at the time, but I saw – heard everything. I don't blame you for her death. I blame my mother and Stregobor."

A furrow creased his brow, "Why would she have you with her? She had been exiled from home long before then."

A hard glint entered Lyrra's eyes, "There is much of what went on then that you are unaware. As you said, she had been driven off years prior, but with the death of my mother, she was drawn back. Vengeance had been stolen from her; you see? And she found that just because she was gone, didn't mean the horrors in that house ever stopped. My sister saved me when no one else would."

"Renfri never killed Aridea, did she?"

Lyrra merely blinked lazily at him, she had no intention of answering.

Geralt didn't know what to do with that – there was more to this story than what he was seeing, but he wasn't up to asking those questions or hearing her answers. He didn't have to as Jaskier remembered his voice "You were nine... Your sister was Renfri. Princess of Creyden?"

Lyrra sighed and met his gaze over her shoulder as she nodded. Geralt could see her discomfort at the admittance and he realized why a second later as he watched Jaskier pale, "You're Princess Lyrrana de Sansa of Creyden."

Lyrra frowned at him, "Not many people are aware of my existence, much less my full former title."

At this Geralt arched a brow curiously – she had to be of royal blood if Renfri had been her sister. Surely, there would have been an announcement of her birth at the very least, but that didn't explain Jaskier's pallor.

The bard wiped a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath as he stared almost stonily at her, "My, uh, my given name is Julian Alfred Pankratz."

It was like a lightning bolt had struck Lyrra with the way she tensed so quickly. She sported the same shell-shocked look as Jaskier as her mouth moved soundlessly for a moment before a strained whisper emerged, "Of the Lettenhove Pankratz?"

Jaskier huffed a strangled laugh, "The one and only."

"By the Gods."

"My sentiments exactly. Except with a little more, you know, cursing." The bard responded shakily; sharp nervous energy bounded from him in waves, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Lyrra didn't seem to know how to respond as she looked between the bard and the door. She stood and briskly placed her supplies on the small table next to the bed, "I need air."

"Right."

She was out the door in seconds and Jaskier stared after her with wide eyes, quietly muttering frantically under his breath. Geralt blinked as he caught some of the panicked melees he was spilling, "Jaskier, what the fuck just happened?"

A halting laugh fell from the bard's lips as he stared ironically at Geralt, "Well, Geralt, you and I have just met my betrothed."

"..."

"What? I don't even get a hmm?" Jaskier demanded sarcastically as he began to pace, "Oh, fuck me."

"You should go talk to her."

"I can see my father's smug decrepit face now." The bard appeared not to have heard him as he continued his frantic movements, "Years he's been trying to pull me back and now... Fuck. Absolute fucking hell."

"Jaskier."

"We should go."

"..." Geralt could only blink as he watched the bard spiral.

"She said you shouldn't stand yet, but you're usually pretty tough. Nothing keeps you down for long."

"Jaskier."

"You can stand, right? I'm sure there's another path to the road."

"..."

"We just need to get back to the inn and grab our stuff and Roach, of course... and just go. We need to go."

"Jaskier."

"You know this all your fault!"

"What?" Geralt growled skeptically as the bard turned on him.

Jaskier's arms flailed as he chased his irrational logic, "If you hadn't gotten yourself hurt, I would have wooed her and bedded her. We would have had a grand time before we were forced to say our goodbyes and none of this mess ever would have come to light. But no! You had to go play hero! Which speaking of – We were being stalked!? You couldn't have mentioned any of this on our trek or was I to find out when some morbid creature was dining on my innards?"

Geralt rolled his eyes and laid back with a groan. He was better off letting the bard wear himself out.

* * *

It took almost an hour before Jaskier was able to calm himself enough to go in search of Lyrra. His betrothal –their betrothal? - wasn't something he had thought of in years. Even then it had seemed like a prison sentence meant to ensnare him in the chokeholds of his family's politics. He may be of royal blood, but that did not mean he wanted to be royal! He had no wish to be part of the evil overlord club – it just wasn't him.

Those thoughts kept on playing in the back of his mind as he sauntered down the dirt path from Lyrra's home. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Geralt was right, they needed to speak. It didn't take him long to find her. She was at the oak tree, sitting on the swing with such a sad expression on her face that he paused in his approach, the bruising around her throat only made her seem more desolate.

What had _she_ wanted?

Obviously not to marry him, if the way she had all but ran from her own home was any indication to go by. He should be relieved but felt somewhat offended by that notion. Honestly, what did he have to offer her? He no longer stood to inherit as a count, that dubious honor went to his cousin. Thank the Gods. He was a bard with no more coin to his name than what he could earn. More than that he had no home to offer her. He wouldn't settle... not yet at any rate. Not while there was still so much of the world to see.

He watched silently as a light breeze pulled locks of her chestnut hair out of her braid to frame her face. She let that same wind propel the swing lazily as she stared off into the distance. She was beautiful. He had known that the first time he got a good look at her face.

_She was his_. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind. A voice he knew better than to listen to.

He sighed uncomfortably before finishing his walk to her, "Nary a cloud in the sky. I can only assume that they've come to collect in your dampened spirits..." He crossed his arms in a pale defense as he abruptly segued into the cloud hovering over them, "So, marriage..."

He grimaced as Lyrra's eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn't decipher before a wall erected and protected any thoughts, she may have from him, "I do hope, you don't expect me to honor our families' contract. I won't marry you."

Jaskier cocked a brow incredulously and tried not to feel the sting of rejection in those too firm words, "Don't be ridiculous, it doesn't suit you. I can't even get you to sleep with me. What makes you think that even if I wanted to that I could get you to marry me."

He smirked as an unwilling smile tugged at her lips.

"Though." He lost his humor and tried not to frown as her hands tightened on the ropes of the swing, "Though it wouldn't take much for you to get me to marry you, Princess. All you would have to do is let the world – hell not even the world, just my parents, know you're still alive and I'll have my entire family hounding me to take your hand."

Lyrra studied him quietly in contemplation, "And what would marriage to Julian Alfred Pankratz look like?"

"Oh, extremely dull." Jaskier answered seriously as he kept her gaze. A thin string of panic tightened in his stomach, "It would be fancy clothes and dinner parties with guests who were less interesting than the dirt beneath our heels. No more music for me. Our conversations would revolve around land and money and children. You'd be expected to bear me an heir. I would find a mistress once the sex became dull... and in twenty years or so, we'd absolutely loathe each other. The usual royal family dysfunction."

His deadpan delivery returned an amused glint to her grey eyes as she asked, "And marriage to Jaskier?"

He nearly froze, surprised that she knew to ask of his dual role. That Julian Pankratz forever belonged with his family, but that _he_ was Jaskier, "Even more tedious. We'd be penniless, with no home. We'd have sex under the stars as often as possible. We'd travel, mostly with Geralt in an attempt to make him mad from our domesticity and over articulation. If we're lucky he might choose to kill us, before one of the monsters he chases after does. We'd meet the most interesting people. There would be no way of knowing if we would end up loving or hating each other, just the knowledge that we tried to care for each other. It's not a life for a princess."

"I'm no princess, Jaskier. Not anymore. Though you shouldn't sell yourself short, marriage to you doesn't sound half bad." Lyrra murmured lowly, "You have nothing to fear from me, however. Lyrrana de Sansa the Bastard Princess of Creyden died long ago, and dead she'll stay. Just like our betrothal."

A part of Jaskier wanted to say 'good' and let it be done, another part of him wanted to pull her into his arms until this horrid mood passed them both by and they could forget that the past few hours ever happened, but it was the side that sparked with questions that ended up taking control as he crouched before her, "Lyrra, what happened to you? What made you run?"

Lyrra sighed and level him with a look that would have made stone weep as she whispered, "A lot of pain, a lot of misery, and seeping scars that run deeper than the ocean. Nothing worth revisiting, I assure you."

For a passing moment, he wondered which of them was the poet. She had done well at hiding her cracks from him in the few short days of their acquaintanceship. He had seen glimpses of a quiet pain she held, but he would never have imagined that she would be sister to Renfri. A witness to the massacre of Blaviken, to her sister's death. What other atrocities had she born to not want to return to Creyden?

He sighed, unsure how to provide her comfort, unsure why he wanted to and why he wasn't headed for the hills now that he knew marriage would not be imminent. He tilted his head thoughtfully as he remembered a time far, far in the past, "I was wrong, you know."

She frowned at him in askance.

"You weren't a terror as a child." He said gently, his eyes searching hers, "Do you remember? We've met once before."

It had been their first meeting; their betrothal had been in negotiation since Lyrra had been born and that day the arrangements were being finalized. She may have been a bastard princess, but she still outranked him. Marriage to her would only elevate his family's status. Not that he was aware of any of that at the time. He was only six months older than her. Six months. He knew because it had been a sign. How auspicious that one royal family gave birth to a boy and in the same year – exactly six months to the day- another royal family, a neighboring one at that, gave birth to a girl. It must be destiny after all.

Her brow furrowed and he knew she didn't remember, "We must have been about five or six. You wore this pale green dress. I only remember because you hated it so much. You wanted trousers like mine, so you could climb a tree without it being unladylike as our mothers had said. You stayed on the ground and I climbed up, because -"

"Because girls were stupid and couldn't do what boys could." Lyrra said as the memory slid into focus. He smiled at her, "You fell and hurt your arm."

"I didn't want my mother to know because she had forbidden me from climbing as well." Jaskier continued, "And you sat with me as I cried. Held my hand and told me it would be okay."

A wistful twist curled at her lips, "We plucked dandelions from the ground the rest of the day and made silly wishes. Even then you made me laugh."

They sat in silence, each lost in that afternoon from ages past. The memory was a precious one. One of the few good ones that he had from his own childhood. It was enough for Jaskier to reach a decision.

"Once upon a time, Lyrrana de Sansa, you were my friend, no matter how briefly." He reached out to entwined their hands together, "Considering we just dissolved our engagement a few moments ago, I would very much like to be friends with you now."

Lyrra chuckled quietly, the air between them lightening with the sound, "Do you even know how to be friends with a girl, Jaskier?"

"Of course, I do." He replied with vague indignancy, "Are you saying that men can't be friends with women?"

"Well, no. Men can." Lyrra bit her lip as she continued, "You, on the other hand-"

Jaskier narrowed his gaze, "What about me?"

Lyrra shook her head at him, "You know exactly how handsome you are, Jaskier. Tell me in the last year, no, the last decade have you been friends with a woman?"

"Of course, I have." Though he grimaced as his mind raced to find a suitable example. It didn't matter. He could be friends with a woman.

Her grin grew as if she could read his thoughts, "Friends don't kiss each other the way we kissed a few nights ago. Or seriously contemplate taking each other to bed."

Well, now there was a line of thought he would never discourage. Jaskier met her grin with one of his own at the memory of that night. Now that the urge to run far and fast was subdued, he'd be damned if that was their last kiss and at her admittance, he hoped for potentially more. He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her to sit on the ground beside him, "Says you."

But now wasn't the time to push that particular issue, he could and would prove he could be a friend to her. He produced a white dandelion for her to take from under the swing, "Now shush and make a wish, woman."

His bluster proved a mistake as his face was suddenly attacked by the soft seedlings. Lyrra laughed and rolled the now empty stem between her fingers. Jaskier bit back his own laughter, "Oh, this means war, you know?"

A grin stretched across her face and he couldn't help but respond in kind.


	5. The Trials of I'm Fine

**The Trials of I'm Fine**

Something was burning.

A deep trench furrowed into Geralt's brow as his eyes rolled open. He was still lying on the bed. He had a vague memory of Jaskier ranting away before he had let oblivion take him again. Now there was only silence and the faint smell of burning food.

Gingerly, he eased himself up to sit. The wooden frame of the bed creaked loudly in the small room. For the first time, he noticed his boots were gone. A quick check over showed he was missing more than his boots. His shirt was gone, replaced by bandages and a light blanket that had fallen to his waist. His daggers and tonics also seemed to be missing.

_Where the fuck were his swords?_

Unnerved that he hadn't noticed their absence before Geralt cast his gaze about as he properly took in his surroundings. The room was small. Smaller than he had realized, a dwarf would even sneer at the wardrobe size of this room, but it was clean. The old floorboards had been swept of dirt, the table next to his bed held a small washbasin and just across from that was a small wooden chest. A window faced opposite of him as he eased his feet to the ground, his hand drifted to grip the back edge of the bed to leverage himself up as he ignored the shocks of pain tearing down his shoulders and into his spine.

If he could only kill those fucking fleders again he would.

His hand brushed against something cold – metal. For a moment, he thought he had found his swords, silently thankful that Jaskier had kept the weapons nearby. He gently wrapped his hand around the familiar feel of a blade and drew out the hilt. It was a sword alright, but it wasn't his.

The blade was too short by far for someone of his stature and the hilt well-worn from continual use, though the dust that had collected bespoke of the last time it had been touched. Geralt let the sword fall to the bed and finished his movements toward standing. Almost immediately he felt a rush of blood and a spiral of dizziness as he did so. The woman – he had to remind himself that she wasn't Renfri -Lyrra had said he shouldn't be up. He had never been particularly good at listening.

It was only with a few tentative shuffling steps that he managed to find his bearings and force down the dizziness with the twinging pain. In five steps he was out of the bedroom and into the main living space. It only took a few seconds to ascertain that the shack he was in, only had the two rooms. A table stood not far from him, fruits and some chopped vegetables covered the top. To his left was a small open area that held a fireplace with a pot hanging from a trammel hook inside. A faint stream of smoke came from the top.

He took a deep breath and ambled over to the poker set next to the hearth. It took more effort than he wanted to admit to lift the iron rod and remove the pot from its hook. He set it down cautiously as his eyes caught sight of familiar black leather. His boots. Geraltblinked and sighed as he noticed the folded pile of blankets, a stack of fresh laundry, and a lute.

_Jaskier._

Geralt shook his head bemused and sat down to reach for his boots, by his estimate it was now early evening and the bard and Lyrra had been gone for several hours. She must have been cooking dinner before the surprise discovery of a long-lost betrothed occurred.

What a fucking mess that was.

There was one thing in his rant that Jaskier had gotten right, however. They needed to go.

Now that Geralt had recovered more of his faculties, he wasn't about to continue to depend on Lyrra's hospitalities. She barely had enough room for one person, let alone three. And he wasn't sure he could continue to look at a ghost, no matter that her eyes weren't sparkling hazel, but grey or that her long hair was only a few shades off from her sister's. Jaskier should have found a way to get him back to the inn. It's not like they hadn't done more with less in the past two years they had traveled together.

With one last grunt, he tugged on his boot and began his return to the bedroom. His shirt had been resting on the wood chest when he had exited. Light footsteps reached his ears just as he stepped to the bed. Automatically, he reached for the sword when Jaskier's familiar vibrato registered. A softer responding timber told him that Lyrra had returned with the bard. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

As if the couple could sense his thoughts, he heard an indignant squawk of a verbally abused minstrel followed by an amused giggle. He leaned into the doorway.

Lyrra was the first to notice his presence.

She raised a brow as she caught sight of the short sword in his hand, "You're not to be up yet. Much less kill something."

"Heard voices." Geralt murmured lowly.

"Where'd you get the sword?" Jaskier asked as he came to stand beside her. He had found the witcher's broad sword in the grass and had hidden it safely beneath his laundry.

Weariness more than showed in Geralt's gaze as he subtly used the doorway to lean against and outright seemed to ignore the question. Lyrra sucked a breath in between her teeth, "It's mine, it was stowed between the wall and the bed."

"Why do you..?" Jaskier's attention was split between her assessing stare and the stalwart front his friend was attempting to convey.

Geralt raised a brow at her, similar questions were on his mind. Why did she have a sword? Had Renfri given it to her? Why was she taking care of him of all people?

Lyrra shifted uncomfortably under his stare before she shrugged, "I've been on my own for over a decade. Girl needs to protect herself somehow." As if the words were enough to steel her spine, she settled a pointed glance over his shoulder, "You look pale. You should still be resting."

Jaskier nodded perfunctorily, having grown used to the other man shouldering on when injured, "Right... We should get you back to bed."

"No." Geralt grunted, to Lyrra's disbelief, but lack of surprise, "I can rest at the inn. We've taken up more than enough of your hospitality."

Jaskier moved to protest, but Lyrra's light touch on his arm stopped him as she shook her head. She turned her attention back to the witcher, "Alright... Come hand me my sword, then."

Geralt held her gaze and hefted the small sword up to anchor the handle towards her in offer. Lyrra crossed her arms and shook her head again. He knew what she wanted him to do. When she didn't waver under his glare, he let it fall on Jaskier.

The bard raised his hands in surrender and shook his head, "No, sorry, I'm with her on this one. You look like hell."

Geralt scowled lightly, "Already practicing your duties as a husband then?"

Both Jaskier and Lyrra flinched at the barb, much to Geralt's amusement, even as his hostess stalked forward to relieve him of her weapon. With experienced ease she flipped it to rest against the wall, before grabbing his forearm, "I don't think any of us will be contemplating matrimony any time soon. Bed with you. I'll have no patience if you ruin the work we've done by attempting to be chivalrous. It's unnecessary."

Geralt stared down at her, silently refusing to move. She returned his scowl and he expected to enter a battle of wills with the woman when she sighed in exasperation. "Fine, be foolish." Her grey gaze fell on a silently amused bard as she suddenly stated, "Try and see to it that he doesn't kill himself in my home."

Jaskier nodded sagely and tossed her something from his pocket. She caught it deftly before disappearing from the cottage entirely with nary a goodbye. Geralt sent a querying look to his companion, "Where is she going?"

"The tavern. She works as a barmaid." Jaskier answered lowly as he sidled up to him, "She'll stay in my room tonight. And _you_ definitely need to lie down, your face is almost the same color as your hair. I see you've been up long enough to get dressed properly which was probably far longer than you should have been up. Being stubborn isn't going to do you any good, you know?"

"We shouldn't have displaced her from her home." Geralt muttered wearily as he let Jaskier prod him back towards the bed. If he could just have a few minutes of rest then they could return to the inn and let Lyrra have her cottage back.

The bard snorted quietly, "If it had truly been an imposition to her then I doubt either one of us would still be standing here. Kind, though, the fair lady's heart is, she has very effective means of getting others to leave her be. Gods know I've watched her do it enough while she's served some rather brutish characters." He reached down to tugged Geralt's boots back off, "I have your tonics in my bag. Will any of them help you?"

"What about my sword?" The witcher asked as he sat against the wall. His long legs dangled over the edge of the bed and a dull throbbing had begun to thrum in his skull.

"I have that too, don't worry." Jaskier answered as he sat back on his haunches, "Tonics, yea or nay?"

Geralt nodded tiredly and closed his eyes. He listened as the younger man drew away and rustled about in the other room. There was a brief pause and the faint sound of clattering metal. Geralt could only assume that Jaskier was looking over whatever had been cooking in the pot. It was only a moment later he felt a heavy weight land in his lap. The pouch of his mixtures.

With careful fingers, he undid the drawstring and began to sift through the bag's contents, "I take it you're no longer writing wedding vows."

Geralt didn't need to look up to see Jaskier's raised brow. He could practically feel the other man's incredulity, "As a matter of fact, no. Lyrra has made it clear that she would much rather like to continue living in squalor than have my hand in marriage."

There was a bitter note to the bard's voice that had Geralt studying him closely. He was faced with the younger man's usual good humor, but there was something..., "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Of course, it is."

Jaskier answered quickly, too quickly. Geralt kept silent and finally selected a tincture to drink. Silently he counted down from ten as he tossed back the liquid and subtly eyed Jaskier's suddenly tense form.

"I just...I just don't." Jaskier sighed heavily and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "I know why I don't want to marry. I mean eventually...someday, I wouldn't mind – but she, she was just so sure. _No, we would not marry._ I just want to know what causes that kind of certainty in a person."

"You're a link to a past she's trying to escape, Jaskier. It makes sense why she didn't want to honor your betrothal." Geralt objectively grumbled as he tucked the pouch against his side. His response did not seem to quell Jaskier's agitation, however.

"No, it wasn't that." Jaskier bit out wearily as he tried to find the words to explain. His time with Lyrra had gone better than he had anticipated, but it had left him with more questions than answers and he wasn't sure he would ever have his curiosity satisfied, "There was this finality to her voice. She didn't say it in so many words, but I don't think she ever wishes to fall in love or marry. I don't understand that."

There was no denying the attraction between the two of them. Even after dismissing their engagement, they continued to flirt, but there was a wariness to their actions now. Their innocent game had turned into something more complicated and Jaskier wasn't sure if that pleased him or not. Despite their little seductive dance, the bard found he truly did want to know the princess turned barmaid. What had happened to Lyrrana de Sansa?

Geralt observed the mix of emotions that crossed the bard's face and nearly sighed himself. He had his own curiosity about Lyrra, but he somehow knew he didn't want the story that piqued at the corners of his mind. He had already slotted a few of the pieces into place and he didn't care for the grim tale that was being woven before him, "If her story is anything like her sister's then it's probably best you don't understand."

Jaskier looked up sharply, a contemplative frown painted his mouth and made him look smarter than he usually acted, "I knew you had killed Renfri at Blaviken, had heard talk that she was some sort of monster, even if she did have the King's favor. I hadn't realized you knew her. I'm sorry, Geralt."

"Hmm." The witcher grunted, a wall fell shut over those memories as he silently refused to share, "I didn't realize you were of royal blood."

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the topic change, "Oh well, that. Lesser nobility, really, and it's not something that has won me many points in the past. So, I try not to spread it around."

"Based on your earlier snit, it sounded more like you didn't care for your status – not the other way around." Geralt countered lightly and eased himself onto his back with a grunt. The throbbing had mellowed, but he still felt ludicrously tired. He was beginning to think he would need to revisit the fleders' corpses, something wasn't right.

"It's not my social status that's the problem. It's my family, specifically my father." Jaskier muttered bitterly, "Oi, don't fall asleep yet. You need to eat some food."

Geralt leveled a dry stare on the bard, "Food's burnt. Now fuck off."

"Eat an apple then." Jaskier threw over his shoulder as he swept out of the room. A moment later an apple hit Geralt in the chest. The bard was lucky he had already left the room.

* * *

"What ta hell 'appen t'yer neck, lass?"

She should have expected the question. Honestly, the bruising wasn't that terrible. Jaskier had gotten her out of Geralt's grasp fast enough for only some faint markings to appear. In the dim light of the tavern, the discolored skin was barely noticeable or so she had thought. Hillard was more observant than most, however.

Lyrra met his concerned gaze as she flipped her tray onto the bar with a raised brow, "Nothing special."

Hillard frown churlishly at her words, a dangerously protective tone entering his voice as he asked, "Did tha bloody bard -"

"No." She responded firmly, a blush began to rise to her cheeks as she noted the regard that she was receiving from a few of the nearby patrons, "No. Nothing like that, Hillard. 'Sides you know I can take care of myself."

"Hmmp." Hillard grunted in disbelief, but let his line of questioning go as they glared stodgily at each other. The barkeep had a soft place in his heart for the younger girl. She had proven herself a hard worker in the time she had been in Glynedol and she never asked for much from anyone. He hated seeing her hurt.

Lyrra rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and tapped the top of her tray for her next order. Already it had been a long night. The Rose and Pine bustled with new faces and she suspected that had much to do with the creatures that the witcher had killed. She wondered how two such monsters could go undetected for so long. She had to push that line of thought to the back of her mind to ponder later as she continued on with her duties. There was just too much to be done, even Mirel was working harder than usual.

It wasn't until hours later that she managed to gain a few minutes to herself as she stepped into the alley behind the kitchen for some fresh air. Sweat clung to her brow and neck in the warm summer night, but to stand free of the mass of bodies inside was something of a reprieve. She leant against the plastered wall of the tavern and sighed in stagnant relief. As much as Lyrra liked to be busy, too many people could become overwhelming.

"Well now, dontcha look pretty."

Lyrra's eyes flew open unaware she had shut them as she eyed the entrance to the alley. The crusty voice sounded familiar as she met his leer. A faint memory of horrible breath pushed to the front of her mind as she realized it was a trader that had come into the Rose before – a handsy one she recalled now. And he had a friend with him, lurking just behind his shoulder.

She said nothing and began to inch toward the Rose's back entrance.

"Uh uh uh." The trader taunted with a raised finger. Yellow teeth flashed into an eager grin and Lyrra had to fight not to sneer in disgust. She took another step back and into a hard, strong body. She glanced up and into cold dark eyes that glittered with twisted amusement.

_Oh, Gods._

This man was larger. He loomed well over her like a church gargoyle – two friends then. Her heart began to race and she felt it choke in her throat as the muscles drew tight. She wouldn't be able to scream. She swallowed convulsively as her sweat turned cold. Quickly she reached trembling fingers into her apron for a dagger, she kept hidden.

"No stools to help you this time, missy." The trader cried mockingly as he stepped before her. Her head whipped around to meet his beady eyes again.

_No._

Lyrra clenched the leather of the hilt tightly as she felt a larger hand grasp her arm painfully. She attempted to pull away. Her voice was barely more than a rasped whisper as she pushed against the tightness keeping her silent, "Lemme go."

The larger man only tightened his grip just as the trader reached a grimy hand up to trail across her cheek and down her neck to her breasts. She flinched and her stomach dropped. It burned where he touched her, like a trail of ants had begun to crawl over her skin. The acrid taste of bile began to slide up the back of her throat and she so very wanted to scream as frustrated tears began to prick at her eyes.

It only made her angrier.

She would not cry. She would not give this man the satisfaction.

"Now why would we do something like that?" He chuckled.

She hated the sound of it.

Although she could feel herself trembling, she waited until the trader moved even closer to her. His breath was as bad as she remembered and she held onto that inane thought as a buoy against the terror icing her veins.

She was strong.

She could fight.

She was strong.

His fingers dipped below the hem of her neckline and that was when she struck. Her knee came up swiftly to land a hard, brutal blow between his legs. He cried out in pain and crumpled in toward her, but she was no longer paying him any attention as she twisted against the brute crushing her arm. With a cry, she pulled her dagger free and slammed it into his side. He hadn't expected her to be armed. He grunted more than shouted as he let her go to clasp at his wound.

Lyrra didn't waste time as she pulled up the edge of her skirt to run for the Rose's entrance. It was only when the dull press of strong fingers in the back of her dress registered that she realized she had forgotten the third man.

_No -_

Too quickly for her to process, he slammed her into the plastered wall she had been leaning against. His hand cruelly twisting at her wrist that held the dagger as he did so. It clattered to the ground with a distant thunk and with it the last of her hope as a heavy body covered hers.

"I do like fighters." A voice whispered against her ear. His breath hot against her skin.

_No._

Her elbow lashed back in an attempt to throw him off. He laughed.

_No._

A shrill scream of terror tore through the air, but Lyrra barely registered it as she struggled. Moments later the man's weight was gone and she was free. Lyrra didn't even think about why as she flew for the door where a teary Mirel stood with open arms. The two girls hovered in the threshold. Mirel watching the proceedings outside with a cautious stare while Lyrra tried to compose herself.

By some miracle, she held in the tears that threatened to spill, but darker thoughts continued to shred at her mind. She felt dirty. Memories of another time, of another's touch, pressed down on her and she struggled to breathe.

"Lyrra?"

_Fingers trailing..._

"Yer alright now, lass."

_Probing, pushing... pain..._

_She couldn't fight._

_She was too weak._

"Lyrrana."

No one called her that. A hand gently cupped her cheek and a sense of safety began to pull at her panicked thoughts. Her grey eyes opened to find a familiar set of blue peering at her worriedly, "Jaskier?"

What was he doing here?

The bard nearly slumped in relief as he forced a kind smile for her, "Hello."

She stared at him not comprehending, "You're supposed to be taking care of Geralt."

A vague hint of disbelieving amusement crept into his gaze as the two studied each other, "Yes, well – his grumpiness has succumbed to sleep again. I thought I would come to check on you and get a few things from my room... Glad, I did. Are you hurt?"

_What?_

Quietly, her eyes trailed over his form and noted the rumpled set of his doublet. He was breathing a little heavily and then she noticed it. The blood trailing over his hand. His knuckles were split open, "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

A muffled snort reached Lyrra's ears and she looked up in time to see Hillard ambling toward her. If it was possible, he looked more concerned than he did earlier. His own hands were beginning to show some bruising, "Yer boy's fine, lass. He jus did a pretty number t'tha vile shit's face. Good thing, Mirel found ya when she did."

Lyrra twisted around to find the other woman. Her large green eyes were streaming with tears, but she hadn't moved far from Lyrra's side, as if trying to reassure herself that her fellow barmaid was indeed alright, "The scream."

Mirel smiled almost sheepishly, "I panicked when I saw you against the wall."

"No... no." Lyrra shook her head with a whispered, "Thank you. I was too scared to get much sound out."

"Lyrra, are you hurt?" Jaskier asked again.

"I'm fine." She parroted back at him.

Hillard passed a clean rag to Jaskier, "Owain and a few regulars are takin' care o'tha two bastards, now."

"Two?" Lyrra murmured, "There were three of 'em."

The men seemed to still at those words and Hillard did an about-face as he hurried back towards the men gathered in the alley. Words didn't need to be spoken for Lyrra to understand that one of the men was missing. She had no desire to step into the alley to find out which one at that moment. Memories burned at the back of her mind and she knew she needed a distraction, "Mirel, can you grab the bandages from the front?"

The other woman nodded, thankful for something to do. Jaskier raised a brow at her as she neared him, "Lyrra?"

She twitched her fingers at him, "Hand."

"I'm fine." He murmured trying to catch her gaze. Even so, he let her remove the rag he had wrapped around his knuckles and was kind enough not to comment on her trembling hands. His first two knuckles were torn up rather good, bruising and swelling had begun to take over the rest of his limb.

Lyrra frowned at the sight and pulled him toward a clean water basin to the side. One of the scullery boys quickly scampered out of her way, just as Mirel returned with the bandages. Lyrra smiled at her in thanks before turning her attention back to the minstrel's hand. Jaskier hissed a second later as she pressed the now damp rag against his damaged hand, "Sorry..."

Jaskier shook his head, "It's fine. My strumming hand, I can still pluck the strings with it...I think."

Lyrra sighed, "I didn't take you for the punching type."

"Oh? And what type did you take me for?" The bard asked quietly as if he was well aware of what she would say.

She finally met his gaze and forced a faint smile, "You know. The fast-talking type."

Jaskier's azure orbs danced with grim amusement as he responded, "I didn't feel much like talking this time."

Lyrra swallowed and turned her attention back to her ministrations avoiding his intent stare.

Almost as soon as she had finished wrapping his hand, she felt him tilt her chin up to meet his gaze again. Slowly, gently as if he was afraid that she would break he linked their hands together and pulled her into his frame. It felt like the most natural thing to fall into his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder as she fought back another wave of tears and let the subtle smells of sandalwood and musk calm her. He held her tightly and only pressed a faint kiss into her hair as he waited for her trembling to subside.

Shuffling footsteps sounded behind them and Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet Hillard's. The old barkeep nodded in quiet respect as he ushered a few of the workers away from the couple. The bard appreciated the moment of privacy, especially when Lyrra drew a sharp breath and moved to step away. He didn't let her go far, not ready to have her out of his sight just yet, "What is it? Talk to me."

"I should get back to work."

Jaskier stared at her in disbelief, "Are you _joking_?"

She shook her head, "I'm fine. Not hurt... just a little shaken."

"Lyrra -"

"Jaskier please." Lyrra nearly begged as she crossed her arms, "I just need to get back to it. Thank you for coming to my rescue, but -"

"NO. No, no, no." He shook his head, eyes wide as he tried to get her to understand. She hadn't been silent in that alleyway. Whispered pleas had left her mouth as he charged toward the attacker she fought so valiantly against. He had thought the worse in those few seconds, then to find her nearly catatonic in the kitchens - and now she wanted to continue on with her night as if nothing happened? She was bloody well going to think again, "No, Lyrra. We can sit here until the tavern closes and Hillard can escort you back to the inn or you can come with me to the inn, but no, you will not go back into that mass of people. Not after this."

A sudden surge of anger tore through her at his demanding tone, "Jaskier -"

Seeing the fight she was gearing up for, Jaskier headed her off at the pass as he shouted, "Hillard?"

The old barkeep stepped into the kitchen to find the couple now glaring at one another. The bard pasted on a pointed smile as he asked, "How would you feel about Lyrra here finishing off her shift?"

"Ye can't be serious, boy." The barkeep began in a huff only to be cut off by Jaskier's pointed wave in his direction.

Lyrra practically growled, "I'm fine."

Hillard nearly rolled his eyes as he realized what the problem was, "Oh lass, let the boy take care o'ye."

Lyrra grumbled something unintelligible under her breath that had Jaskier narrowing his eyes before she brushed past him to head for the alleyway exit. She froze at the threshold as ice began to take hold of her veins again and her heart began to pound.

Those men would no longer be there... she knew this logically, but -

Jaskier came to stand beside her as he sent her a knowing look, "Still feeling fine, Princess?"

She sent him a dark glare, but he remained unfazed as he threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her outside with him, "You know for a small town it certainly isn't dull."

"Jaskier." She murmured warningly.

He sent her an unimpressed stare as he pulled her along, "It's only a few metres, Princess. I'm sure you can manage. After all, it's not like you've just gone through a traumatic experience or anything."

Her earlier anger was back as fire suddenly thrummed through her. Lyrra yanked her hand from his and stormed out of the alley and toward the inn. Just a few more feet. Jaskier didn't miss a beat as he stayed on her heels.

"You're an ass." She threw petulantly over her shoulder.

"Yes, well. You're hardly the first to make that distinction." Jaskier threw back as he easily kept pace with her, "Do try and be a little more original."

The invective curse that left her lips brought an amused grin to his. He was fairly sure that in the short time he had known her that she hadn't sworn once.

They stepped into the inn and she bounded ahead, intent on getting away from him. Stifling his own curse, Jaskier caught up to her in time for the door to his room to slam in his face, "Now that's just rude."

He didn't think much of it when he flung the door back open and marched inside, silently grateful that she hadn't locked it. His irritation had built and he wasn't about to leave until he said his piece to the stubborn woman and made sure she was alright for the night. Mostly, he was trying to quiet every instinct that was telling him that Lyrra shouldn't be left alone.

She was brooding in front of the window when he entered. Intent on ignoring him, Jaskier was sure. Unluckily for her, he was rather hard to ignore, "Lyrra."

A slight twitch in his direction was the only indication that she heard him, "You know, normally I'm the one being accused of dramatics."

"Jaskier." Lyrra muttered exasperatedly as she turned to glare at him, "Just leave me be, please."

He raised a brow at her, "Technically speaking, this is still my room and I would like it very much if you would talk to me."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and silently counted to ten as she tried to get her emotions under control. She hadn't been able to have a coherent thought since being pressed against the wall and she knew – _she knew_ that her emotions were all over the place and that she wasn't being fair to Jaskier, but she did not want to breakdown in front of him, "Why do you care? We've known each other for five minutes."

He tilted his head and smiled at her that gentle smile that made her knees weak and sauntered before her, "Well one, we've known each other for slightly longer than five minutes, and two, you're my friend now. It's the only reason I need to care about you."

Her lips moved silently as she tried to find a reply suitable, but what came out was, "You're an idiot."

His smile turned rueful, "And you're trembling again."

Jaskier opened his arms in silent invitation and it only took a moment before she accepted and stepped into his embrace. He held her tightly and wished more than anything it was under different circumstances, "Tell me what happened."

"You saw what happened." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

He sighed wearily, "I saw part of it. I honestly only saw the one man attacking you. Didn't realize there was two until your barkeep slammed someone against the ground next to me. You said there were actually three."

"Jaskier, please. I don't want to relive it right now." She whispered and pressed her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder, "You should get back to Geralt."

Her actions belied her words and Jaskier rolled his eyes, "Somehow I think Geralt is going to be just fine. You, on the other hand, are not."

She tilted her head back and met his solemn stare, "Then... Then can we just stay like this? This is easy."

Jaskier chewed on the inside of his cheek as he contemplated her request, but silently nodded, "Alright...for now."

Lyrra sighed in relief and fairly melted into him. She didn't know what it was about the bard that soothed her so. On some level, she was terrified of the innate trust that she had for him, but in that moment she was simply glad he was there.


	6. Questions of Comfort

**Questions of Comfort**

The ice was back.

Lyrra shivered and felt tears begin to burn at her eyes.

She didn't want to be in this place.

"Shhh, Princess." A voice of smooth whiskey soothed as she felt a hand brush over her shoulders.

She hated that voice and his touch, but she knew any disobedience would make this worse. She closed her eyes to try and hide her fear.

"You're trembling like a leaf, little one." His breath was hot and moist against her cheek.

She choked on a quiet sob, still refusing to open her eyes.

_Papa, help... Please come save me._

"Drink your drought, now."

_No._

She didn't want it.

"It'll make you relax."

The glass chalice was pressed to her lips.

_No._

She clenched her teeth together.

A chilled hand clutched painfully at her jaw. Forcing her mouth open and the liquid spilled down her gullet.

She was so cold.

"Lyrra."

_What_?

Confusion tore through her, he never called her that.

"Lyrrana."

Her eyes slid open almost unwillingly and she stared into his cold dark sea eyes, "Lyrra..."

That wasn't his voice.

Lyrra tilted her head as something gripped her and began to pull her away from her monster with the dark eyes. The world faded around the edges and turned black

" _Lyrra_."

A heat smoothed over her cheek and she felt her eyes flutter open again – when had she closed them?

Jaskier hovered over her anxiously. His eyes were blue too, she noted distantly. Not like the sea, but like the sky on an early spring morning, "Jaskier?"

He quirked a relieved grin at her and answered her unspoken question, "You were having a nightmare."

Lyrra blinked, cobwebs of sleep still clung to her mind. She was in his room. A vague memory of disrobing to her chemise and climbing into bed – no, she had nestled into Jaskier's arms as willing as a foundling. She nearly sighed before his words penetrated. Nightmare? She shivered and suddenly the cold place loomed up from the shadows of her mind. It wasn't a nightmare, it was life. Her life. Her fingers twitched with the need to move.

Warmth, she wanted warmth.

A soft brush against her face drew her back to the present and she realized that Jaskier was cupping her cheek. His thumb swept soft circles over her skin, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. She was surprised to find she didn't mind his touch at that moment. He was watching her, waiting for something. A reaction, a response? She wasn't sure, but she knew he was warm.

Not ice.

Not cold.

She wanted warmth.

Unthinkingly, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his. He stilled before pulling back slightly. His gaze searched hers curiously and she was glad for it. Glad that he hadn't surged forward and pressed for more – even though she wanted more. Lyrra smiled almost shyly at him as she wondered if this was just another dream. A good one. He was gentle and warm...good. This time she didn't just lean up. Her hand came to brush across the back of his neck, the short hairs at the base of his scalp tickled her palm before her mouth crashed to his again.

He kissed back.

Slowly, tentatively as if he were working out a puzzle. This kiss like the first one was chaste, but then there was another. Just as slow. Curious, even. Lyrra didn't mind. His hands left trails of fire across her skin as they came to settle at her waist. He was taking the cold away. She nipped gently at his lip and she felt more than heard the moan that rumbled through his chest. Her other hand trailed a path from his jaw down his neck to the opening of his shirt where her fingers brushed against the coarse hair that peaked out. It dawned on her that he felt solid – real beneath her hand, but the realization wasn't enough to make her stop.

Lyrra tugged insistently at his shirt and he sat back long enough to let her pull it over his head and drop it to the floor. Their breathing was audible now as he reclaimed her mouth and her fingers began to explore the new territory that had been exposed to her. She discovered hard, lean muscle as she traced the sinews of his abdomen, the small hairs dipping below his trousers tickling her skin as she plotted her path. He was soft skin and hard lines, smooth muscle and rough hair, and she needed more. An ache to be touched, to be filled began to echo in her. She pushed against him wantonly, searchingly as she broke their kiss and trailed biting kisses down his stubbled jaw.

Jaskier breathed a faint moan at her attentions, his fingers twisting in her thick mane as he pulled her head back to taste her again and he flipped their positions. Instinctively, her legs widened to straddle his waist, her chemise rose up her thighs as she did so but he didn't move to recline back and her hips fell to meet his. She gasped as his hardness pressed against her center and she ground down.

He visibly shuddered at the contact as he drew away from their kiss rather reluctantly and leant his head against hers. His voice was a strained whisper as he uttered, "I'm very much going to regret saying this, but Lyrra, we need to stop."

Bemusement was the only emotion she was capable of conveying in that moment, "Something wrong?"

"No...and yes." He murmured almost piteously with a dour cringe.

Lyrra pulled away slightly, feeling suddenly uncertain and a little embarrassed, "Wha...?"

Jaskier sighed, his hands reflexively finding a place at her hips, "Have no doubt that I very, very much want to plunder your depths right now."

"Good, I want that too." She didn't doubt him, she could feel his want quite clearly. She brushed her lips against his and had to bite back a smile when his fingers curled into the folds of her gown.

"You are not making this easy." Jaskier mumbled as he pulled back again, "Lyrra..."

She nearly scowled in frustration as she frowned at him, "Jaskier."

He frowned back and released his grip on her to frame her face with his hands, "Lyrra, I'm not bedding you tonight. Not tonight."

She stared at him silently stunned. It took a minute for the implications of his words to find meaning. Not tonight? Did he think her so fragile? A thin strand of indignant anger slithered through her blood, but she pushed it away as she studied the firm set of his mouth and the almost sullen glint in his azure eyes. Behind that, she could see a quiet plea, "Is tonight really so different from any other night?"

"Yes." He said quietly.

Lyrra hesitantly reached up and placed a hand over one of his, "Jaskier, are you... are you trying to protect me?"

He smiled dully, "Is that really so strange?"

She caught a fleck of hurt in his gaze – she had wounded him. She hadn't meant to. Her fingers tightened over his as she pulled his hand from her cheek to place a lingering kiss on his bandaged wrapped palm, "I'm afraid it's a service with which I am unfamiliar. You are not what I expected, Jaskier."

"Is that a bad thing or a good thing?" He asked gently.

She flashed him a faint smirk, "Right now, it's just plain annoying. You don't need to protect me, you know?"

"Maybe not, but surprisingly, I do have a few scruples." Jaskier replied pointedly, "We've both had a rather dramatic day. Between finding out you're my betrothed, you being accosted, me actually punching someone, and..." He broke off and shook his head in almost disbelief, before leveling her with an intent stare, "Our first time together won't be out of a need for comfort and distraction."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

"You're not the only one who needs comfort and distraction."

Lyrra sighed quietly as they stared at each other. She didn't know what to do, mostly because he wasn't wrong. For whatever reason, the cold and lingering shadows seemed to dissipate when he was near her. His mere presence brought her comfort... it was odd, but she was loathed to let that small peace go. In a parrot of his earlier actions, she brushed her hand gently across his cheek. She ignored the faint flush she could feel rising up her neck as she haltingly asked, "Then. Then can you just kiss me?"

Jaskier smiled with a look that could only be described as affectionate as he murmured, "Gladly."

She smiled back as his arm wrapped around her and she fell into his attentions.

* * *

Jaskier grimaced slightly as he washed his hands in the cold water of the stream near Lyrra's cottage. His knuckles stung from the sudden contact, but luckily the skin didn't break open. The sun had barely begun to crest the horizon when he had left Lyrra's side to come check on Geralt. A feat that had been much more difficult and also more of a relief than he had anticipated. The image of her half-hooded grey eyes watching him drowsily as he pulled on his boots made him smile. A lingering goodbye kiss nearly had him crawling back into bed with her.

Instead, he had taken matters quite literally in hand once he had left the inn – something he hadn't had to do since his days at Oxenfurt. Wasn't that just...something.

He rubbed tiredly at his face, not sure what to make of everything. Well, if he was going, to be honest, what to make of Lyrrana. By the Gods, how she had bewitched him. He had run the gamut of the emotional scale in the past twenty-four hours and he placed the blame of that solely at the former princess's feet. Never before had he felt the need to protect someone as he had her, never had he been so scared for another being either. He didn't care for it.

Then there were the more intimate events of the night as well. Not just their amorous explorations of each other, either. Lyrra hadn't cried, but she had been vulnerable in front of him, had let him hold her, and care for her in his own way. He didn't regret any of that in the least, but the lines were beyond blurred between them at this point. They weren't exactly friends. Despite what he had told her, Lyrra had been right, friends don't kiss each other the way they do. They hadn't crossed into lovers, yet. Nor were they exactly courting. There was no doubt he cared for her, but what exactly did that mean?

With heavy steps, he turned from the stream's banks and sauntered slowly through the fields to the path that would lead him to the cottage. He arrived at the ramshackle little building sooner than he had intended and with none of his thoughts any clearer. The moment he crossed the threshold he knew Geralt had been up again. He rolled his eyes – stubborn to a bloody fault. The pot that had held the burnt stew was now clean and back in its proper place. The table cleared of its food remnants. Well, no one could say that the witcher made a poor guest.

"You know..." Jaskier called as he moved for the bedroom, "Housework doesn't typically fall under the category of resting."

Geralt didn't look up from his place on the edge of the bed as he did up his arm braces. He looked better than he had in ages, but he still looked like shit, "I've rested enough."

The bard quirked a brow as he leaned into the doorway, "Yeah? There's an angry-looking gash in your shoulder that says different."

"I'll live." Geralt grunted as he finally looked up. His golden eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Jaskier's swollen hand, "What happened?"

The bard followed his gaze and flexed his fingers experimentally as he recalled the rage he had gone into as he had slammed his hand repeatedly into the foul creature that had attacked Lyrra. He hadn't been able to stop until the Rose's barkeep had hauled him off the man, "Lyrra was attacked outside the tavern last night."

Geralt seemed to sit up even straighter at his words and Jaskier offered a semblance of a reassuring smile, "She's okay."

It was Geralt's turn to raise a brow, "And _you_ came to her rescue?"

A thrill of indignant hurt welled in Jaskier at the question. Why did everyone seem to think him heartless enough to leave another in trouble? Granted, he tended to avoid conflict as much as possible, but really. He sent the witcher a baleful look as he crossed his arms, hiding his hand from sight, "There were three men, according to Lyrra. She killed one and incapacitated the other. The third got ahold of her and that was about the time I showed up. His face was harder than I expected. I think I'll leave the hitting of things to you from now on."

Geralt rolled his eyes and grabbed his cloak, "And she thanked you by taking you to bed."

Jaskier's eyes widened and he bit back the sour retort he had on his tongue, "Believe it or not, no. At least not in the way you're thinking. She was a bit upset and I'm not in the habit of bedding traumatized women."

That made Geralt pause in disbelief as he pointedly stated, "You smell of her... and other things."

"Gross." Jaskier pulled a face of disgust. Sometimes, he didn't envy the abilities that the witcher was embued with, "Not that it's any of your business, but the reason I smell of Lyrra is because I slept next to her last night. I wasn't all that comfortable leaving her alone after everything that happened. And as for the other stuff... Well, _you_ try waking up next to a beautiful woman and not physically react."

While it wasn't the whole story of what happened in either instance, Jaskier wasn't about to expound on the precious hour he had spent tasting Lyrra's lips. Geralt seemed to know he wasn't speaking of everything as an amused glint entered his eyes, "Explains your surly mood then. A hand's a poor substitute."

The bard scowled, "Gets the job done."

Geralt snorted and passed him into the main area. Jaskier turned as he watched the older man deftly find his swords and few select accruements. He must have been watching with some intensity as Geralt sent him a curious look, "What?"

Jaskier shrugged as he continued to mull over the events of the past day, "Just thinking."

The witcher shook his head, "Don't hurt yourself."

"Haha." Jaskier retorted with a sigh as he began to gather his things, as well. He got halfway through packing his bag when a dandelion stem fell to his lap. He smirked as he picked up the sad little plant, echoes of Lyrra's laughter wafted through the air. Well... shit, "One of the men got away."

Geralt stilled, his jaw tensing as he turned to stare at the bard. Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't go after humans, not unless provoked, but that wasn't what he was silently telling his friend, "I don't want to leave Lyrra alone... Maybe we should stay here for a few more days?"

"Hmm." Geralt grunted as he tilted his head at Jaskier and waited.

"It's just a few days. I mean -" Jaskier rushed on as he snapped his bag closed and leant it against the wall, "She did kill this man's friend. What if he's still hanging around?... Waiting for that perfect moment to strike again. Besides, you kind of owe her. She didn't have to take you in or care for you..."

Geralt blinked slowly, "Jaskier."

"Yeah?" The bard replied hopefully.

"Shut up."

Jaskier deflated, "Really!? That's it! We can't just leave her."

"We're not." Geralt said as he left the main room for the bedroom again. Jaskier stood there confused until the witcher returned carrying Lyrra's sword. He slid it in the sheathe holding his own weapons, "We'll stay here. Lyrra will at least get her room back."

Jaskier grinned as the older man turned back to him, "Geralt, are you being gallant?"

Geralt leveled him with an unimpressed look as he replied deadpan, "Tell me, Bard, if all you did was sleep next to her last night, where did the love bite on your neck come from?"

Unthinkingly, Jaskier slapped a hand against his throat as if he could feel the hickey as he stared with wide eyes at his friend. Geralt scoffed under his breath and exited the cottage. The duo made quick work of getting back to the town and the bard was pleased to see more of a bustling street than he had the previous few days and his fingers itched for a quill or a piece of charcoal. He hadn't had time to grill Geralt on his fleder feat and he was due a new song.

As they neared the Rose and Pine, a cart wheeled out from the side alley. Atop it lay a body shrouded in a grey blanket and Jaskier knew without a doubt who resided underneath. His lip curled slightly at the sight and felt his hand twist into a fist.

Geralt watched him from the corner of his eye before noticing the chain that led off the carts back. There stood a second man clapped in irons. One eye peered darkly at the bard, the other too swollen to even open. His whole face was a dark smattering of purple and blue. The witcher wasn't sure he could readily identify the man once the swelling disappeared. He raised a surprised brow in Jaskier's direction, "Are you sure your hand's not broken?"

"No." Jaskier murmured lowly as he continued to glare ahead.

"They'll be takin' to Toussaint's Alderman fer judgment."

A brash voice said behind the two. Jaskier barely looked back to acknowledge the barkeep, "Should just string him up here."

"Aye, but then we'd 'ave to deal wit 'heir stench." Hillard muttered dryly as he nodded hesitantly at the witcher before turning his attention to the bard, "See if ye can git the lass to go 'ome for a bit, would ya?"

Jaskier looked at the man perplexed before glancing toward the inn. Lyrra should still be there resting. She had promised him, but even as he was thinking it his eyes landed on a familiar form. She stood on the other side of the cart. Her arms crossed as she watched the proceedings of carting off the dead and guilty. He began to scowl as the cart was finally taken down the road and he had a clear path to her.

"Lyrra?" She glanced toward him in surprise and Jaskier nearly rolled his eyes, "What are you doing out here? You said you'd stay inside and rest."

Lyrra offered him a faint smile as he loomed over her, "I'm rested. I wanted to see if there was any more news."

Jaskier frowned at her, "You should have stayed inside."

Exasperation coated her stare, but she said nothing before she caught sight of Geralt and raised a disapproving brow, "Speaking of staying inside. You shouldn't be about yet."

"I'm fine." Geralt muttered lowly as he gave her a critical once over as if she was the one horribly wounded, "You can have your bed back."

Lyrra frowned at his words as if she were given a puzzle, "Why do I feel like there's a caveat to that statement?"

"There is." Geralt replied bluntly, "We're staying with you for a few more days. At least until your missing attacker is less of a concern."

Lyrra stared at both of them before turning a baleful look on Jaskier, "Really?"

Jaskier smiled sweetly at her as Geralt grunted and headed into the tavern. The couple barely noticed as they held their staring contest. Lyrra was the first to break as she huffed, "I don't recall asking for protection, Jaskier."

"I don't know why you're so surprised by this." The bard replied with a shrug and leant down to place a chaste kiss on her forehead, "Humor me, please."

She sighed wearily but refrained from further comment as she slipped past him to follow Geralt. The bard trailed after more sedately as he wondered how he had become acquainted with two such stubborn people.


	7. Wounds of Self Defense

**Wounds of Self Defense**

She moved strangely.

Geralt sipped quietly on his ale as he watched Lyrra flit about the tavern. Neither the barkeep nor the bard had been able to convince her to go home. Intent to return to some form of normalcy were the words he had heard tossed about while he slipped into a deserted corner, _his_ intent was only to observe. Besides the few moments she had spent tending his wound and assuring him that she held no ill-will toward him, Geralt didn't know her. He hadn't the time to become acquainted with her personally, he barely had time to form a first impression. Yet, in that short time, she hadn't struck him as rash, but she also hadn't struck him as violent either. Her sword and the death of her attacker reneged those impressions. A woman who could take down two of the three men who attacked her would not be one to wallow either. He supposed her resolve to return to normalcy was admirable, he had yet to determine if it was also foolish.

He hadn't missed the tense set to her shoulders anytime a new customer walked into the tavern or the way she held herself just out of reach as she spoke with others. Despite her resolve, the incident had affected her. All of this he expected, especially after he had listened to the whispered details the local townsfolk were scattering as they drank and observed Lyrra themselves. The prying gossip reminded him of one of the many reasons he was glad to travel as much as he did. Even still, what he hadn't expected was the way she moved. She was smooth, silent.

Not in the way he had seen fine ladies of court raised to walk, though a touch of that was certainly there too. No, there was something about it that tugged at his memory. Lyrra, all but seemed to fade into the background. Her frock and headscarf removed her from close scrutiny from strange new faces – she was just another barmaid. She weaved through the crowd effortlessly. Her tray never wavered and she never stumbled or bumped into another person. It was like watching a dancer to a show that no one else seemed to be aware was occurring. She was a ghost gliding past, to, and through. It bothered him because Geralt knew he had seen movement like this before, he just couldn't place where.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lyrra appeared at his table, seemingly from nowhere as she cocked an expectant brow at him, "What would you like to eat? Cook has some stew that's fairly good and she also has a few chickens that are roasting in the spit."

Geralt shook his head, "I'm not hungry."

It was true. He hadn't had much of an appetite since waking and he was still trying to throw off the claws of fatigue. Not even his tonics had proven of much use beyond removing the smarting pain in his neck and back.

Lyrra tilted her head almost curiously, before nodding as if she had received an answer to some unspoken question, "You need to eat."

Geralt merely sent her an impassive stare as he uttered, "I had an apple."

"Today?" Lyrra questioned dubiously when he didn't answer she snorted quietly and smiled, "I'll get you the stew."

She was gone before he could voice a word of protest. He just barely caught her slim form disappearing into the kitchen. Sighing quietly under his breath, he turned back to the crowd that had gathered in the Rose and Pine in time to catch the bard's attention on the kitchen as well. This was another oddity he had noticed. Jaskier's sudden hyper-awareness. Aside from a few minutes when the younger man had left to get his lute, his attention had been firmly held by their brunette hostess all night. He tracked her movements as he played and sang, his body almost always angled in her direction and any time she disappeared from sight it was like watching a hound dog's ears suddenly prick up. Jaskier wouldn't relax until she was back in the main room. Geralt wasn't even sure that Jaskier was aware he was doing it.

As if to prove his point, Lyrra returned with a small bowl of stew and Geralt could practically see the tension leak from the bard as he belted out the next line of some raunchy limerick. He wanted to roll his eyes, instead, he watched curiously as Lyrra slid onto the bench across from him, "Going to feed it to me too?"

A dimly amused glint entered her eyes at his barb, "Only if you ask nicely..."

When he continued to stare pointedly, she sighed, "Apologies if my company offends you. I need a break and there are quite a few people in this room who would protest if I took it outside, I wager."

It helped that the only moderately peaceful area in the tavern was in his little corner. No one dared bothered the witcher, except her. She had checked on him a few times already, eyeing his face and wound carefully each time. He could practically feel the disapproval radiating from her.

He smirked, "And this gave you the chance to play nursemaid again."

Lyrra rolled her eyes, "If you want to starve, starve."

He was tempted to let the bowl sit, but some distant part of him, the part that never let things like food go to waste lifted the spoon and took a small bite. She was right it wasn't half bad, even if the thought of swallowing more made him pause, "Do you always watch people eat?"

"No." Lyrra smirked, "Just the ones who end up in my bed."

Geralt quirked a brow at the teasing comment, "And here I thought that was the bard."

A faint blush rose to her cheeks as she sent a thoughtful glance to the man in question, "Jaskier is... sweet." The bard caught her gaze as he started his next song and winked at her. Her blush darkened, "And incorrigible."

Geralt felt his lips twitch in silent agreement as he watched the interplay between the couple. She shook her head as she turned back, "There was a time when I dreaded meeting him, you know?"

"Wouldn't have guessed by the way you ran out of your home." Geralt murmured dryly, "Afraid your betrothed wouldn't be a handsome prince?"

"Oh, I knew he wouldn't be a prince." Lyrra returned drolly as she met his stare head-on, "It's just been my experience that those of an... elevated status are entitled, cruelly so. I was expecting cruelty, but he's not. He's rather kind."

In truth, it was hard to remember that either one of them was of noble birth. They moved about the lower masses as if it had been their place all along. He had only seen Jaskier perform in court once and while his performance had the usual jaunty foolishness there had been a tension that Geralt had attributed to the potential threat of cuckolded husbands. He wouldn't have pegged Lyrra for royalty any more than he had Jaskier.

_No more princess._

Renfri's voice echoed through his thoughts as Geralt remained silent. Her story had been born of cruelty, as well. It seemed to be the fate of the Creyden Princesses he was beginning to gather. He took a long draw from his tankard as he studied her, "Where did you go after Blaviken?"

Where Renfri had been forthcoming, her sister was more guarded Geralt found as she flashed him a benign smile and shrugged, "Lived on the streets, gradually made my way south and well, here we are."

"Here we are." He murmured softly. A pensive crease furrowed his brow as he recalled, "You said she knew she was going to die."

Lyrra's smile turned sympathetic. Much of what her mother and Stregobor had spewed about her sister had been pure shit, but the old mage had gotten one thing correct. Renfri was special. She would know things that should have been impossible, "She knew it the moment she saw you. She had dreamt of her death for years. The white wolf with the sad eyes... She was right, your eyes are sad."

Geralt's mouth tightened uncomfortably, "She shouldn't have gone to the market."

"You mean, she shouldn't have sought revenge." Lyrra corrected lowly as she swooped his ale from his grasp and took a swig. It was subtle attempt to get him to eat more, "Loud and brash, that was my sister. Like a raging storm."

"Do you not also want vengeance?" He asked quietly, curiously.

There was a long moment as she contemplated his question. A hardness flashed across her grey eyes that he had only seen when he asked of Aridea before it drifted into something sadder. She smiled ruefully at him, "Sometimes. I think it's normal to want pain for the ones that hurt us. Sometimes, I think those people aren't even worth the effort."

He frowned, noting that she hadn't exactly answered him and unsure of what to make of their conversation. Instead, he chose to alight on a more pressing topic, "And the man that attacked you last night and got away? Is he worth the effort?"

She tensed faintly as if she had forgotten the events of the prior night entirely, "The man who attacked me is a coward. He brought friends to help subdue me and when they were in trouble he ran. He, alone, is hardly worth consideration."

_Interesting._

Geralt tilted his head, "You don't think he'll come back."

Lyrra shook her head, "Not alone, he'd bring more men with him if he did."

The witcher couldn't find fault in her logic. His thoughts had run a similar path as the events of her attack became more clear to him. Yet, the man had been foolhardy enough to try once, there was nothing that said he wouldn't try again, "Your sword -"

"Haven't used that thing in years." Lyrra cut him off duly amused, "More liable to hurt myself with it than anyone else."

"You fought off two men. I doubt you're that out of practice." Geralt pointed out as he took back his ale.

"I was very lucky last night." Lyrra sighed at the reminder and looked away almost ashamedly, "I panicked, things could've gone very differently."

He nodded in agreement; glad she could see her own pitfalls. It would make things easier for him, "We'll change that."

Lyrra raised a brow nonplussed, "We will?"

"We will." Geralt promised soundly as he finished off his drink, silently entertained at the bewildered stare he was receiving. He had made the decision to teach her a few defense skills almost as soon as the bard had uttered the news of the third man being free. He hadn't needed Jaskier reminding him that he should repay her kindness, not when he was well aware of all that he had already taken from her.

Lyrra was not nearly as amused as she stared pointedly at his shoulder, "And how do you propose to do that wounded?"

His mouth thinned as he grunted, "I'm fine."

Her lips parted in protest, but another voice beat her to it, "We really should get you a looking glass if you think you look fine."

Both Lyrra and Geralt looked up to see Jaskier approaching with two chalices in hand, neither had heard his performance end. He slid one in front of Lyrra as he straddled the bench, she was sitting on, "What have I missed? - You going to eat that?"

He was already reaching for the bowl before Geralt could answer when Lyrra pulled his hand back, "He needs to eat."

Jaskier blinked guilelessly at her, "He had an apple."

There was a long moment as they stared at each other before Lyrra shook her head in exasperation, "There's something wrong with both of you."

She moved to stand, Geralt assumed to get the bard a bowl of stew as well, when Jaskier quickly latched onto her wrist, "Stay. Stay. I can get my own food."

Lyrra stared down at his hand with a frown. It took Geralt a minute to realize why as he noted the loose wrapping. If it were possible Jaskier's hand looked more swollen than it had earlier. The bandage did little to hide the bruising now. With careful movements, she bade him keep still as she unwrapped his hand for a better look. Luckily, Geralt didn't see any sign of infection on the broken knuckles. The bard had done well in keeping it cleaned.

Even still their hostess sighed wearily, a hint of guilt touching her eyes as she gently brushed over the skin. Jaskier flinched at the small contact, "You need to stop using it so much."

"Yes, well why do you think I stopped playing." Jaskier grumbled as he attempted to wrap his hand back up.

Lyrra merely hummed and took the ribbon cloth from him as she re-tied it. He had been joking when he had called her a nursemaid earlier, but Geralt was finding the description more than appropriate as she fussed. Biting back a sigh himself, he pushed his bowl over to the bard. He wasn't going to eat it anyway. Jaskier flashed a triumphant grin at him as he dug in.

"So, what had you two looking so serious?" Jaskier asked around a mouth full of food. Lyrra pulled a face at his lack of manners making the bard smirk as he waited for an answer.

Geralt shook his head at their antics, he suddenly felt like the only adult sitting at the table. Lyrra sipped at her wine as she replied, "How Geralt thinks he's going to teach me how to fight."

Jaskier stilled midbite with an expression of pure befuddlement, "Wha-"

"Not fight, just defense." Geralt corrected taking Jaskier's wine. He would have preferred ale.

The bard didn't even protest the theft as his eyes darted between his tablemates, "What?"

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"I have a defense. It's called running." Lyrra murmured dryly and Jaskier smirked in agreement, "Even if I were willing to go along with this rather moronic idea, I still don't understand how you're going to do that when you're still recovering."

He merely smiled darkly in answer.

* * *

Lyrra sighed wearily as she watched the morning sunrise from outside her cottage and wondered how she had been talked into this. She had donned an old pair of breeches and a loose shirt as she waited for Geralt. The witcher had been intent on his plan she had found when she had been wrested awake only hours after falling asleep. If he had wanted to give her an incentive to hurt him, he had gotten off to a very good start.

Even Jaskier was still asleep.

She yawned tiredly as a hand fell on her shoulder. She didn't jump, merely sent a baleful stare toward her tormentor. Geralt bit back a smile at the look as he handed her sword to her. Lyrra frowned as she looked it over. The dust had been cleared, the blade oiled, and it appeared more lethally sharp than when she had originally obtained the weapon.

Lyrra was tempted to tell him that she already knew defense techniques. No one spent ten years on the streets without picking up some sort of fighting style. She could fight when she needed to, but there were... there were times when a certain movement or touch would shut off her common sense and she suddenly found herself struggling to even throw a punch. Those were problems that she didn't know how to overcome. As she looked over her sword, she thought of her sister – this was her weapon of choice. One that Lyrra had never been fully comfortable handling.

She raised a brow at the witcher, "I wasn't lying when I said I haven't handled this thing in a while."

"I know." Geralt replied as he moved a few paces in front of her. He stiffened his stance and met her annoyed stare with an expectant one, "Come at me."

Lyrra scoffed, "I thought the point of this was to teach me defense."

"It is. Come at me." He ordered lowly.

"This is a phenomenally stupid idea." She muttered, not any more inclined to move. As irritated as she was by this whole affair, she wasn't about to attack someone whom she knew to be wounded. Geralt hadn't looked any better in the morning light. His pallor was horribly stark against his dark clothing. She dared to think he looked better in the dim light of the tavern.

Geralt titled his head and frowned at her, "You won't hurt me. Now come at me."

Almost petulantly she muttered, "You're already hurt."

"Lyrra."

She blinked at hearing her name. She was sure that it was the first time he had ever said it. He raised a brow at her, he wasn't going to tell her again. She huffed quietly, knowing that he wouldn't give up. Stubbornness shined in his golden eyes and she had long learned when to pick her battles. She crouched down and picked up some dirt to rub in her suddenly sweaty palms. Geralt watched her with approving eyes as she stood again and found her grip on the hilt of the sword.

Firm, not overly tight, she reminded herself.

She drew a calming breath and then advanced.

She kept the sword tip angled out and down. A swing would cost her too much momentum and she had the feeling that Geralt was expecting it. Instead, she thrust for his inner thigh and was soundly knocked back on her ass.

She didn't even have time to squawk in surprise as she blinked dazedly up. By the Gods, he was fast.

"Not a bad start." Geralt rumbled as he crouched next to her with an offered hand, "Still think you're going to hurt me."

Lyrra snorted as she gripped his palm, "I was never under the impression that I could. I'm more concerned that you'll hurt yourself."

He pulled her up with nary a grunt as he eyed her speculatively, "Again."

Lyrra rolled her eyes but did as she was told. She advanced in the same manner, but this time she feinted to the left as she swiped the sword for his right. He dodged gracefully and quickly twisted to grasp her wrist and knock the sword to the ground. Her back connected with his chest and she felt the small flinch up his arm. She was right, he was going to end up hurting himself.

Geralt didn't let her go right away and when she glanced at him over her shoulder, he was glaring at her, "What?"

"You're holding back." He growled.

She found herself imitating Jaskier, "What?"

He hummed lowly and let her go. She watched curiously as he stalked back to the cottage and then she noticed his sword leaning in the threshold. A small tendril of dread began to curl in her stomach.

He picked it up and didn't even take a breath before he was on her. Her eyes widened and Lyrra barely suppressed a gasped as she dodged a slash to her stomach. He swung again, faster this time. Her eyes darted warily to his shoulders as she ducked under his swings. He remained impassive through and she knew he was going easy on her. She was both annoyed and relieved by that notion as her muscle memory began to kick in and she met one of his thrusts. Their swords clanged. A tremor went through her arm at the force and she grunted in discomfort before she twisted away. Her hand skimmed the edge of her boot and she itched to grab the dagger within, more comfortable with the smaller weapon, but she resisted and barely moved out from another attack.

Geralt didn't let up and she began to panic. In a desperate bid to slow him, she kicked up some dirt to his eyes and dodged another swing. He turned in time to see her sword coming for his throat and ducked. He had her disarmed and on her back a second later.

He peered down the length of his sword at her with a frown, "You're right. You panic."

Lyrra gulped for air, it had been a long time since she had to move that fast, "Are we done now?"

Geralt snorted and helped her back to her feet. He studied her curiously for a second before bending back down and slipping his hand inside her boot. She nearly kicked out at him until she realized he was grabbing her dagger, "Why didn't you use it?"

She shrugged uneasily, "Any time I pull a dagger out, it tends to go into someone. Sometimes, me."

Geralt lifted a brow and held the hilt out to her, "Show me."

Lyrra frowned unhappily but took the dagger from him. He placed their swords to the side and gestured for her to attack. She didn't advance the way she had with a sword. She tilted the blade down with the edge out and didn't move so much toward him as she did pass him. She made a horizontal slash for his side and he dodged easily and moved to grab her elbow, but she moved faster. He backed up as she pushed forward. It became a dance and Lyrra was fairly sure he was just humoring her. She should have been knocked down ages ago.

As if he could sense her thoughts, Geralt latched onto her wrist as she swiped up and twisted. She winced but reacted unconsciously by slamming her foot into his ankle and yanking down. He grunted, but his grip remained firm as the dagger fell from her fingers.

Sweat coated her brow as she stared expectantly at him. Geralt nodded approvingly as he let her go, "Better."

"You could have done that sooner." She grumbled rubbing her wrist.

"You could have pulled it out sooner." Geralt countered as he watched her. To her annoyance, he barely looked rumpled. He crossed his arms and lifted a brow, "Show me what happened the other night."

Lyrra froze and turned disbelieving eyes on him. She hadn't wanted to speak of her attack, much less reenact it. Already she felt her veins start to chill as she remembered the weight against her back. The witcher tilted his head and she felt like he was seeing right through her. He took a careful step back as he said almost gently, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lyrra."

Even as he spoke, she felt her heart in her throat. A tightness was starting to choke her voice again. She clenched her jaw in frustration and closed her eyes as she turned her back on him. When she opened them again, she spotted Jaskier leaning warily in the doorjamb of her cottage. She wondered distantly how long he had been watching.

She kept her gaze locked on him as she started in a rough rasp, "I was leaning against the wall in the alley when he called out to me. He was a trader form a few nights prior. He wanted me to service him and I had told him where to find the brothel. He had a friend with him – I started to edge back to the kitchen when he blocked off the end of the alley. I didn't know that he had another friend until I backed into him."

She took a step back and heard the swish of air as Geralt came to meet her. She did a horrible job of hiding her flinch but continued to describe halting what had happened. Geralt shoved her dagger back into her hand as she described how she kept it in her apron. Slowly, painfully they went over everything step by step. Until they reached the point where her third attacker came into play. Geralt raised his hand to press into her shoulders and she froze. Her words faltering as she felt her breath start to come in short gasps.

_Cold fingers touching, probing._

"Lyrra."

_Her skin crawled._

"Stop."

A deep voice growled in her ear and she snapped back to the present. Geralt stood to her side as he eyed her carefully. Jaskier was halfway to her, concern written across his expression as she grappled for control of herself, but Geralt held up a hand to stop him.

Then so quietly she almost didn't hear him, even though his knowing tone didn't escape her notice, "Is it me being behind you or is it the touch against your back?"

She swallowed tightly as she met his apologetic gaze. A weary sigh escaped her, he knew – not that it was hard to figure out, she whispered back, "Back. He used to hold me down with his hand between my shoulders."

Geralt nodded and let his hand drop, "We'll break. I need to think."

Jaskier moved forward tentatively as he looked worriedly between the two of them. He almost seemed to be silently asking if it were okay to approach and Lyrra smiled faintly at him, "I'm okay."

"That's debatable. You're the same color as his hair." The bard muttered glibly and as he got closer, he lifted a brow, "And you smell like Roach."

"Rude." She smacked his arm as she smiled unwillingly. The act seemed to do more to reassure him than her words had as he smiled back, "How's your hand?"

"Still attached." Jaskier shrugged and held it up for her to see, despite his attempt at levity there was still an air of concern around him. His good hand trailed a path down her arm towards her hand, "You didn't want to do this...Maybe you two should stop. Say the word."

Her smile turned soft as she squeezed his fingers, already she feeling her anxiety easing, "Just a hiccup, don't worry."

He sighed uncertainly but nodded before a more devilish grin began to pull at his lips, "Well, can't say I don't enjoy this little number, you're wearing. Who knew trousers could be so sexy?"

Lyrra choked on a laugh at the unexpected comment as she felt a blush heating her cheeks, "You're ridiculous."

His azure eyes danced merrily at her, "Now that's better. Flushed and sweaty, very tempting."

"Jaskier..." She admonished amusedly, even as she felt her blush deepen.

He chuckled quietly as he continued to tease, drawing soft laughs and light conversation until he was certain whatever dark place she had gone to was locked firmly back in the shadows. She knew what he was doing and was appreciative of his efforts even if she didn't say as much.

Neither noticed the way Geralt was watching them pensively, an idea beginning to take shape.


	8. Small Avoidances

**Small Avoidances**

"Is there a reason why we're traipsing through the woods?" Jaskier questioned for the thousandth time, "I thought you killed whatever was tracking us."

"I did." Geralt grunted as he retraced his path to the fleder's corpses.

The bard frowned as he barely sidestepped a mess of brambles, "Then why are we out here?"

"You didn't have to come." The witcher rumbled in response as he eyed the ground. His steps were still very much present in the dirt, even after almost a week and it made him wonder just how out of it, he had been from the attack. He knew better than to leave a trail.

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well." Jaskier drawled as he narrowly dodged a branch swinging back in his face, "All I need is for you to suddenly be attacked out here and try and crawl your way back. It was a debacle getting you into the cottage the first time and you were merely down the lane then. Can only imagine what carting your heavy ass from the woods would be like."

Geralt glared wearily at him over his shoulder, "And here I thought you were going to pester me about your girlfriend."

The bard went unusually silent as he stared at Geralt's back before uttering a faint, "She's not my girlfriend."

The look of disbelief he received in return was almost galling, "She's not... she's... I don't know what she is."

Geralt snorted as he listened to the bard flounder. He'd have to be blind not to see the way the couple danced around each other, not to mention the air grew heavy with the scents of their attraction whenever they spent more than a few minutes talking to each other. It was getting annoying.

"She's been avoiding me." Jaskier murmured woefully.

That made Geralt pause as he sent the younger man an incredulous stare. Avoiding? They hadn't been more than a handful of steps away from each other since he had returned to consciousness. Hell, he had been surprised when Jaskier had decided to come with him instead of staying back with Lyrra. What the fuck was the bard talking about?

Jaskier sighed under that look, "Lyrra has this smile. It's the one she gives to the tavern's patrons she doesn't particularly know. Polite enough, but doesn't invite for more. She's been giving it to me the past couple days... It feels like she's building a wall - I don't know what I've done wrong."

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to continue his trek. He didn't have time for this nonsense. The brush grew thicker, but a few paces ahead a small clearing lay. The bodies of the two fleders resided within if they hadn't been dragged off by the wildlife. By the faint smell of rot in the warm summer air, the witcher knew he would still find the corpses.

"Perhaps I've been too clingy." Jaskier continued thoughtfully, "I just... I like being near her. I thought she liked it too."

Geralt refrained from sighing, he knew Jaskier could go on like this for hours if he let him. Instead, he tunneled through the rest of the brush as he commented, "She does."

The bard perked up curiously at this, a hopeful tinge in his voice as he cautiously asked, "Really?"

It was such an insecure question that Geralt nearly scoffed at his companion. It wasn't like Jaskier to be so...well insecure. The bard exuded optimistic confidence no matter the situation he found himself in, uncertainty usually didn't set in until after he barreled into trouble... or in this case, he had broken things off with his lover. The witcher glanced back at Jaskier to see a nervous edge tightening his visage. It was then that Geralt remembered how young Jaskier really was, barely a man of twenty, "You're not the reason she's being distant."

He stepped abruptly into the clearing and the sight of dark mangled flesh met his gaze, behind him Jaskier audibly heaved as the smell and sight finally hit his senses.

"Gods that's disgusting." The bard moaned piteously, "Please tell me, we didn't come out here to bring those back with us."

"No." Geralt growled as he knelt next to one of the corpses, "It's unusual to find a fleder so far away from civilization. They like crypts and sewers, not woods and vineyards."

"Which means what exactly?"

He reached for the clawed hand of one of the fleders, uncertain of what he was looking for, as several bugs flew into the air. Jaskier choked in disgust and backed himself toward the edge of the clearing. Geralt paid him no mind as he looked over the wounds he'd made – his strikes had been clean to the bodies. Their size, Geralt realized now, was smaller than the fleders he had encountered in the past, but not by much. These were the same height as him, most towered another foot above. The claws were long thick tapers, but otherwise ordinary. He scowled as he continued to scan the hairless, warted body. Already muscle and skin had shriveled, the summer heat had done little to preserve the remains. It was then he smelled it.

A sickly-sweet scent. Like rotting roses, coming from the creature's mouth. His golden gaze zeroed in on the creature's fangs as he stuck a finger along the back edge of the sharp canine.

"Oh Geralt, no!" Jaskier groaned as a black seeping liquid sledged down Geralt's arm, "I should've stayed with Lyrra."

Poison.

Geralt eyed the substance curiously as he sniffed deeply at his hand. The sweetness was worse, but he recognized a few of the underlying scents. He now understood why he had been so fatigued; the toxin would act as an anesthetic on a normal human in small doses, but what the fleder secreted would kill its prey. Geralt wasn't normal by any means and he was suddenly thankful his mutated anatomy had allowed him to make it a few miles away before succumbing. However, fleder's typically weren't poisonous either, "Fuck."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he dryly stated, "Good news I take it."

Geralt glanced at him with a frown as he wiped his hand in the grass, "They've been altered – purposefully mutated."

The bard's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why? What would be the point?"

"I don't know." Geralt murmured lowly as he gave the corpses a leery glance. He would leave the remains here and check back in a few more days. If he were lucky whoever had made these beasts would be looking for them. It wouldn't do to have someone running around creating new monsters for the world, "We should get back."

* * *

The sharp shink of metal was the only sound that disturbed the quiet air of the cottage yard and how Lyrra was able to find one of her guests as she came back from the markets.

"You know I've had my little panic problem for a while now." Lyrra stated softly as she stopped before Geralt sharpening his swords, "I don't think it's something that will go away from a few training drills."

Geralt barely paused in his actions as he settled a firm glance on her, "I don't intend to make it go away."

It wasn't just the panic she went into when she was touched, but the coil of anticipatory tension that began to wind whenever someone was behind her. She had been trained to expect an attack from behind, trained to feel vulnerable and helpless in the wake of that attack. Her reactions were enough to tell Geralt that her abuse had gone on for longer than he wanted to imagine and the lessons that her abuser had taught her would never be forgotten.

She seemed only mildly surprised at his words as she quirked a brow at him, "And what do you intend to do?"

"I intend to make you use it." He grumbled as he slid a rag over his blade and began to polish, "Acknowledge it, control it, use it, and then put it away."

Lyrra smothered a sigh as she looked almost bemused at him, "I don't understand. Why are you going through all this trouble?"

"I repay my debts."

She stared at him for a long moment, "And what debt could you possibly owe me that would incur this sort of payment?"

Geralt barely stifled a sigh as he set his sword and cloth to the side and met her stare head-on. Neither he nor Jaskier had mentioned what they had discovered in the woods to her. He didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone until he had more answers. Yet, even this was only a small reason to stay and he wasn't about to elaborate further. He didn't have to – she could very well make the connections on her own.

"It wouldn't be for playing nursemaid. This is all too much trouble for a simple act of kindness." She smirked bitterly and he saw shades of her sister shine through, "Renfri, then. I find it particularly curious that a woman you met briefly years ago has this much impact. Granted, yes, you did kill her, but you've killed plenty. Monsters and men. What made my sister so special?"

Geralt frowned disapprovingly at her words, but he recognized the provocation for what it was, wounded pride and desperate defense, "Why? Afraid you don't measure up to her?"

"I know I don't." Lyrra answered wearily, "She was strong. She took her pain and let it fuel her – she thrived from it... I'm not her, Sir Witcher. You've been looking for her since you woke."

That was true... to an extent. There was no denying the resemblance, but Lyrra's temperament was much different from her sister. Renfri, he understood. He understood her pain, her rage, and her desire for justice. He even understood her need to demolish all who stood in her path, even if he didn't agree with it. Lyrra was quieter than her sister however, he sensed that her pain went deeper. Her fear and rage simmered below a well-crafted surface, waiting for the opportunity to overwhelm. He had seen glimpses as she sparred with him. Had watched as she expended more of her energy battling herself and her instincts than she had him.

"I know you're not Renfri, Lyrra." Geralt uttered softly, "And she's only a small part of why I'm doing this. Though I do wonder, why you've indulged me so far."

Lyrra seemed to falter at his words, a faint sadness lined her stormy eyes before she grimaced and looked away, "Because... when I look at you, I see her too."

He cocked a brow and waited.

"Most people remember my sister as a monster." Lyrra explained softly, "You remember a person. I can see it in your eyes when I mention her name or I do something similar to her. You reinforce her memory and it's hard to walk away from that."

"I killed her, why aren't you angry with me?"Geralt finally demanded, "The memories I evoked cannot be pleasant. I took her from you."

"Aridea took her from me." Lyrra whispered, her eyes glazed as she fell into distant memories, "As did the mage. My Renfri died long before you ever arrived."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He sighed heavily and he waited for her attention to come back to him, "I will stay only as long as it takes for my wounds to finish healing." He stood and Lyrra watched after him curiously as he moved for the cottage, "You shouldn't underestimate simple acts of kindness. You help heal me, I help heal you. It's that simple, Lyrra."

"How?"

Geralt didn't look back, "Come and find out."

* * *

Jaskier hated this.

To her credit, Lyrra was doing an admirable job at being brave, aside from the tense set to her jaw, her mien remained expressionless. However, there were still signs that she wasn't handling the current situation well. She had turned that stark white color again and it was only very faint, but he could make out the tremor spilling through her hands. He itched to go to her, but her recent reticence with him weighed heavily on his mind. Geralt had said her reserve had nothing to do with him, but still, he was uncertain.

The witcher stood behind her, hovering just inside her personal space and not touching, merely observing, but she seemed to be anticipating some action from the larger man. What though, Jaskier wasn't sure. He knew that sometimes Geralt would press a hand to her shoulder or hip, but never in the same area. He also knew that he wanted this exercise to be over. This was the third day of them playing some variation of this little game after going through defensive stances and he was tired of it. Despite the impassivity on both Lyrra's and Geralt's face, he could sense her distress and it was making him anxious.

Logically, he knew that Geralt would never hurt her, but logic was hard to hold onto when all he wanted to do was to step in between them. When he knew that when they finally finished for the day, she would disappear for an hour and come back with tear tracks staining her cheeks.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, "Is there a point to this? I didn't think defense had anything to do with standing like statues."

A small smile quirked at Lyrra's lips at his words, but no further reaction or explanation came forth from either of his companions. Instead, Geralt tilted his head in thought as his studious gaze suddenly landed on Jaskier. He always found it rather dangerous when Geralt looked at him like that – it usually meant he was about to be used as bait for some horrific creature.

He gave the witcher a leery look and nearly missed the amused glint that entered Lyrra's grey orbs as she watched him.

"Jaskier, come here."

The bard jerked his attention back to his friend and tried not to frown as Lyrra tensed again. He hated this. Geralt stared at him expectantly and Jaskier sighed as he slipped from his perch on the woodpile. His journal and quill laid forgotten on the ground as he approached, writing was something of a chore currently anyway. Lyrra's eyes followed him curiously as he neared and he couldn't help but send her a flirtatious smile as he stood next to her. He did so love when she blushed from that grin and as expected a faint coral red rose to her cheeks, "How can I be of service?"

Geralt rolled his eyes as he watched the bard's antics, but backed up a few steps as he ordered, "Stand where I am."

Jaskier huffed and stepped into the space that had been vacated, "So, am I just supposed to stand here? What is this accomplishing anyway? Is this some secret witcher technique to make people aware of their surroundings?"

The last bit was more of a taunt than an actual question. He wasn't a complete idiot – he had seen the way Lyrra tensed whenever someone stood behind her and he knew that Geralt was trying to stop that tension from turning into something more... dramatic. He bit back a smirk as he heard Lyrra and Geralt sigh at the same time.

Geralt moved to stand in front of them both, making sure that Lyrra kept her gaze forward as he gave his next set of instructions. There was almost a look of forewarning that the witcher sent to their hostess and by the way, she suddenly stilled, Jaskier was hesitant to do anything he was asked. As if he could hear his thoughts, Geralt levied a heavy glare in his direction, "Jask, place your hand on the small of her back."

He didn't move, a sense of foreboding filling his being as he stared at his friend, "Wh -"

Lyrra sighed again and rolled her shoulders, "It's okay, Jaskier...go on."

Her assurances weren't good enough and Jaskier found himself scowling as he asked, "Can one of you please fill me in on the importance of this exercise?"

"No." Geralt answered soundly and lifted a brow at him, "The small of her back."

Stubbornly, he crossed his arms, not in the least intimidated by the witcher's glare. He was going to get a bloody answer out of one of them for this continued nonsense. Lyrra was the one to break as she kept her gaze forward and her voice unreasonably light as she said, "He's trying to keep me from falling into some bad memories. I was hurt repeatedly as a child and when someone touches my back, I remember that pain. It makes me rather useless when being attacked, apparently."

"You're not useless." While her words were unsurprising, the dark twist through his gut was as he tried to quell the urge to demand further explanation. Despite, what Lyrra may think he had ascertained some form of abuse to her person from their night at the inn. She had spoken during her nightmare, quietly whispered pleas that had fair broken his heart – he couldn't bring himself to ask after those cries when her gaze had alighted on him that night, he was beginning to wish he had. Fuck, he didn't want to cause her pain, "Lyrra, we don't need to do this."

She peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled gently as if he were the one who was being tested, "It's fine."

It really wasn't.

She turned back before he had a chance to protest.

"You've both lost your damn minds." He scoffed quietly and glared almost petulantly at Geralt as the witcher merely crossed his arms and patiently waited. He had a feeling if he didn't do it then his friend would and somehow that seemed much worse.

Nervously, he shook his hand out before hesitantly reaching up and pressing his fingers into the hollow of her back. She went positively rigid, but as he moved to yank his hand back Geralt froze him with a look.

An expectant look.

It was as if he were expecting the bard to suddenly know what to do to make this all better. He wasn't a bloody mind healer for Melitele's sake, "Tell me to stop, Lyrra."

"It's fine." Her voice was tight as if she were gritting her teeth.

Jaskier swore, he fucking hated this – desperately, he fell back into the one tool he knew how to use better than anything, "Close your eyes, Lyrra and listen to my voice."

She must have sent Geralt a look as the witcher nodded at her to follow his directions. She crossed her arms and Jaskier bit back a sigh as Geralt sent him another expectant glance. He kept his touch light as he asked softly "When you blew that dandelion into my face, what did you wish for?"

"What?" Lyrra asked somewhat bewildered.

"I know it's been a few days, but after we decided we were unfit to marry. I handed you a dandelion and you blew it into my face." He ignored the raised eyebrow from Geralt at his words and pushed on, "What did you wish for?"

"Um... nothing. I just wanted to see your reaction." Lyrra murmured.

"Oh?" Instead of pulling away as his instincts were screaming at him to do, he slid his hand around to grab her hip. A touch of humor and curiosity entered his voice as he asked, "And did I give you the reaction you wanted?"

She snorted quietly, "You were surprised... but delighted, like I had just given you a grand gift instead of a face full of seedlings."

Jaskier felt a small grin tug at his lips and he gradually began to press his body closer to her, "You did give me a gift. You trusted me to be your friend." She began to stiffen again as his warmth started to settle against her back, "Trust me now, Lyrra. Trust that it's me behind you. Trust that I will never hurt you... What happens when someone touches your back?"

"I panic." She whispered tightly.

Jaskier grimaced, "No, start smaller. What's the first thing you feel?"

There was a long drawn out pause and for a horrible minute, the bard was sure he had made a mistake, had drawn her further into her fears instead of away. Then a shuddering breath stole through her as she answered, "Ice. It feels like ice has been poured into my veins. I hate the cold."

"What else?"

She swallowed, "My heart beats so hard that I'm sure it will pound through my chest. My throat tightens and I can't seem to scream, no matter how hard I try... and I feel weak as a babe, my arms heavy and my feet slow...and I can feel him. I can feel his hands and his breath."

A nauseous roil climbed Jaskier's stomach as he began to work out just how exactly she had been hurt. Her reserve around him suddenly made more sense... By the Gods, how he hated this. He clamped down on the need to rebuke both his friend and Lyrra for making her relive these horrific memories day after day. His grip on her tightened ever so slightly as if he could drag those memories from her skin, "You're not weak. You're still here. Still breathing, still speaking, and warm, and kind. I have watched you. You take the time to chat with every customer, you take the handsy ones away from the other barmaid."

"I don't-"

"– don't deny it, I've seen you do it." He rubbed faint circles into her hips as his chest met her back, "You always greet the barkeep with a smile. You help that man – Nigel – find safe shelter when he's too deep in his cups. You speak only kindly of Madam Hatchet."

"Madam Tyssa."

He smiled at her exasperated correction, "You gave Geralt your bed and your home. You listen to me ramble. You let us try to help."

Her hands slipped down to meet his. He could feel a faint tremor through her chilled fingers and gently trapped them under his on her hips. It was an odd reverse hug they stood in, but Jaskier didn't dare move now. Instead, he buried his face into her hair and continued to whisper to her, gentle questions and even kinder observations.

The couple had forgotten Geralt as he watched her trembling subside and her pallor lessened, "Lyrra."

Her grey eyes wearily lifted for the first time since Jaskier had begun speaking and the witcher found himself softening under her wary look. He silently asked her if she would be okay to try the next part of their exercise. The part they hadn't been able to get to before. She sighed inaudibly and nodded as she unconsciously tensed in Jaskier's arms.

The bard turned an irate stare on his friend, already sure he didn't want to hear the next set of instructions, "No. Whatever you're about to say, Geralt, just no. We've done enough for today."

There must have been something in his gaze that gave Geralt pause as normally the witcher had no compunctions about overruling him. Hesitantly, he nodded in agreement, "We'll try again tomorrow."

A faint murmur of protest left Lyrra's lips and it was all Jaskier could do not to shake the woman. Was she so intent on torturing herself? His lips brushed the rim of her ear, "Tomorrow Lyrrana. I will touch you until your heart's content tomorrow."

"How do you make everything sound like an innuendo?" Lyrra asked quietly as she tilted her head back to meet his stare. A faint twinkle of amusement shined in her grey orbs and he nearly smiled in relief.

He basked in that look, in her nearness as she leaned willing against him. For what felt like the first time in millennia, though it had only been a couple of days, she wasn't staying just out of his reach, wasn't presenting her mask of polite tolerance at him. He brushed a light kiss to her brow, "Just talented that way."

Her faint blush returned under his scrutiny and he bit back the urge to taste her lips when she didn't pull away. Slowly, he linked his fingers with hers and tugged her around to face him, "You don't have to hide from me, you know? I may talk utter nonsense, but I do make a rather good listener too, my lovely Lyrra."

She stilled in surprise and a sheepish smile quirked at her lips as she realized her attempt at distance hadn't gone unnoticed, "Jaskier..."

He didn't particularly want to hear her excuses or apologies just then. He shook his head at her with an amused huff before gesturing for the cottage, "Come on. We'll talk later."

Lyrra said nothing as she let him guide her inside.


	9. Bathing Chambers and Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut

**Bathing Chambers and Horses**

The Rose and Pine was in rare form as raucous travelers clambered about the tables eager to exchange news and gossip. Jaskier kept his ears peeled for anything noteworthy as he quietly searched the tavern. He had finished a set of bawdy limericks which were always a crowd pleaser and required little use of his lute, but now it was time for a break. Geralt had spent all of five minutes in the crowded tavern before murmuring something to Lyrra and slipping back out the door. Jaskier had barely held in a knowing scoff at his friend's departure, but now his eyes were scanning for the familiar blue-grey headscarf in the crowd.

He frowned when he didn't find her. While Lyrra wasn't always the easiest to pick out in a crowd, he had become familiar enough with the way she glided around people to be able to find her fairly quickly. A small tendril of unease rippled through his gut as he continued to eye the small dining area. Shades of the last time he hadn't been able to find her in a crowd pricked at his memory. A brief thought of checking the kitchen swooped through his thoughts as he approached the bar, but then he could always just ask the barkeep. Hillard already had a goblet of wine waiting for him when he sidled up to the edge of the bar.

He took it with an acknowledging nod, "My thanks."

Hillard flicked a knowing glance towards the bard. It had been two weeks since the minstrel had arrived in Glynedol and the barkeep didn't think a day had gone by when he hadn't followed his barmaid around like a shadow, "She's o'er at ta whore 'ouse."

Jaskier blinked at the abrupt remark, a multitude of questions poised on his tongue, "Did she tell you to tell me that?"

A sly smile pulled at the old barkeep's mouth; he was well aware of what Lyrra normally told the more lecherous men that came into the tavern. It would be a good joke to tell the bard the same to see if he would go, but in this case, it was true, "No, boy."

"Not a boy." Jaskier stated with a pointed finger, but nodded all the same, "Though again, my thanks."

He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and Hillard shook his head amused as the bard made a speedy exit for Tyssa's brothel. It never occurred to the minstrel to ask if she had left in the company of another.

Feverish thoughts danced through the bard's head as he crossed the road. Images of Lyrra with one of the skimpily clad women he had witnessed inside was the one most hoped for and prominent, though he had the sneaking suspicion that the former princess was merely dropping off the town drunk again. Still, there was no point in bursting that particular bubble until he set his sights on her.

To his surprise, the town innkeeper stood outside the brothel like some sort of sentry when he arrived. He raised a brow at the portly man as he came to a stop, "I thought Madam Tyssa was the owner of this fine establishment."

"She is, Bard." Owain said quietly as he leaned bored against the doorjamb.

Jaskier forced a smile and nodded as if he knew what exactly was going on, "Right... If you don't mind just stepping to the side so that I may enter."

"Doesn't open for another hour." Owain murmured lowly and much to Jaskier's confusion.

It was well past dark and he had never once heard of a brothel having hours, "I'm sorry, but what? What do you mean it opens in an hour?"

"It opens in an hour." Owain stated again drolly, not budging an inch even as the door was suddenly yanked open.

The innkeeper nearly fell backward as Madam Hatchet's face scowled out into the road, "What's wit all ta noise?"

Jaskier nearly flinched under that woman's glower. She could make Geralt pause with a stare like that, he silently swore, "Your new guard man won't let me in."

Owain rolled his eyes and tipped his head back to meet Tyssa's questioning glance. It was all Jaskier needed to know that there were no hours for the brothel. Even still, he heard the older man grumble to Tyssa under his breath, "He travels wit the witcha."

For fuck's sake, Jaskier groaned quietly.

Tyssa rolled her eyes and murmured something about idiots as she nudged the innkeeper to the side, "He's here ta see his lady, Owain. Let 'im in."

Owain looked baffled as he glanced suspiciously at the bard, "I thought he liked Lyrra."

Jaskier couldn't keep his disbelief from his expression as he tried to find the right words to vent his indignancy on the man. What business was it of his whom he decided to spend his time? Nevermind, if he were here to find Lyrra or not. He didn't have to as Tyssa uttered a pained moan, "She's inside, ya pigheaded fool."

She fairly pushed the portly man away from her door and ushered the bard into her business with all the fuss of a mother hen. It was bewildering. Especially after the narrowed eyed suspicion that he had received the last time he had been in this woman's presence. Tyssa smiled almost fondly at him, an amused twinkle in her hard eyes as if she knew what he was thinking. And wasn't that just disconcerting?

He ignored the distant sounds of debauched fun petering down the hall and stairs to them as he frowned at the Madam, "Where -"

"Down ta stairs to ta left." Tyssa answered before he could finish his question. The knowing look in her eyes was much more devious than Hillard's had been and he suddenly wondered what he would be walking into as the brothel owner pulled open a door to a set of stairs leading down, " 'Bout time tha girl took to someone."

"Wha-" Jaskier began to ask as he stepped inside, but the stairwell door shut in his face, leaving him in a dimly lit corridor, "Rude... There's something wrong with the people in this town."

Thrown by the sudden lack of noise and the sudden oppressive feeling of heat, Jaskier cautiously continued down. He had heard of brothels that offered more specialized services for its clients. Where people would need a password to enter a section such as this – quiet, private, dark … unnecessarily creepy. Yet, he heard nothing as he reached the bottom. There was only a corridor with two doors. He turned to the left and pushed the door open and prayed that the brothel's madam hadn't just sent him into a dungeon.

What on earth could Lyrra possibly be doing down here?

He received his answer seconds later when he was met by the sight of a very naked Lyrra in a steaming pool. It took several minutes for him to process that the brothel had an underground bath as his gaze devoured the expanse of flesh bared to him as she stood from rinsing some sort of soap from her long hair. He breathed out, "By the Gods."

Lyrra's gaze snapped to the door at the low sound of his voice, "Jaskier!" Automatically, her arms crossed over her chest to cover herself from his gaze, a dark blush staining her skin, "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you as it so happens." Jaskier murmured amused and feeling rather grateful to the old madam upstairs as he stepped closer to the pool, "Is this a hot spring?"

"Turn around! Better yet, get out!" Lyrra hissed ignoring his question as she glared darkly at him, "How did you even get down here?"

He smirked, but did as she bid and turned his back, "It seems Madam Hatchet has taken a liking to me. She also seems to think that we're more intimately acquainted than we are."

Lyrra uttered a small oath, making Jaskier snicker. Light splashes of water broke the atmosphere for a moment before she sighed, "Alright, you can turn back."

Jaskier turned to find that she had moved to the edge of the pool barely a foot from him. Her body now obscured by the water and sidewall but there was no getting the image of her splendid naked form from his head. He smiled roguishly at her scowl, "You know, you could have just said you were going for a bath here tonight. I wouldn't have bothered you."

Lyrra shot him a look of pure disbelief.

His smile widened, "No, you're probably right. I would have snuck down here far quicker."

"Was there something you needed?" Lyrra asked drolly an unwilling smile twitched at the corners of her lips, despite her annoyance.

"Just you." Jaskier replied quietly as he bent down on one knee before her, "I wasn't in the mood to carouse with the hoards tonight, thought you might want to turn in early. We've had a long few days."

"Mmm." Lyrra agreed thoughtfully, her gaze softening as she raised a brow, "True. I'm surprised you don't want a break from me. All three of us have been in each other's pockets lately."

Jaskier merely shrugged, "I like being around you."

She stared at him a moment and he could see uncertainty lurking in her grey orbs. What she was uncertain about he wasn't sure, but Jaskier wasn't about to question it when she nodded behind her and quietly requested, "Join me."

He bit his lip as he considered her, despite his teasing he had no desire to force her into anything, "You sure? I can wait upstairs, Lyrra."

"I like being around you too." Lyrra answered softly, "Besides when's the last time you bathed in something other than the cold stream by my cottage?"

"My first night here." Jaskier murmured under his breath as he let his doublet slip to the ground. To his amusement, Lyrra turned to give him privacy as he continued to disrobe as if she wouldn't see all when he joined her in the pool. He had long gotten over any discomfort at being seen naked. Being forced to endure the trauma of the shared bathing chambers with fifty other boys while going through his formative years at Oxenfurt had effectively curbed any sense of modesty he may have possessed.

Soon enough his trousers and small clothes joined the rest of the pile on the ground and Jaskier slid gingerly into the pool. He was pleasantly surprised by how deep the watery pit went as the hot water just reached above his waist. A wooden platform had been anchored to the side walls about four feet down for people to stand on, but he could tell the well went deeper. So, it was a hot spring. Interesting.

He glanced over to see Lyrra still had her back to him, but her posture had become tense. Tense, in the way he recognized from those horrid exercises they did with her back. He stifled a sigh and wondered if he had made a mistake, "Lyrra, turn around."

She hesitated for a minute, peeking shyly over her shoulder at him. He smiled in gentle amusement at her and reached out a hand, "Come here."

Slowly, she linked her fingers with his and lets him tug her into his arms. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep his eyes on her face and not sneak another peek. Gods, he hoped that she knew how much she tested his resolve. He raised a hand to caress her cheek as he lowly uttered, "We go at your pace, not mine." He brushed a light kiss where his hand had been, "I also don't care if you look. I encourage it even. Now, where are the soaps hidden?"

He felt more than saw the tension leave her as she smiled a little ruefully at him, "How do you do that?"

Jaskier raised a brow at her, "Do what?"

"Know what's bothering me without me saying anything." Lyrra answered as she pulled away. He watched as she moved to the opposite end of the pool where he now saw a slew of bottles. She chose a few and a rag.

Quietly, he moved beside her, "You're not that hard to read. What's that?"

He pointed to the bottle she was shaking, "Softens the hair. Dunk yourself. There's a ledge to sit on over there."

"Going to bathe me?" Jaskier asked mildly amused and more than a little excited at the prospect. A state that wasn't helped as she peered up at him through her lashes. Gods, she was a minx.

"Maybe." Lyrra murmured softly as she nudged him towards the ledge.

He smirked and quickly dipped himself below the surface to wet his hair before following her instruction. He had said they would go at her pace and he was presently very curious to see what that pace was exactly. He slipped onto the ledge and promptly found himself white-knuckling the stone next to his thighs. Lyrra had gotten over her own spell of modesty rather quickly it seemed as she no longer angled herself in just a way to hide her attributes. And what lovely attributes they were... He greedily took in the swell of her breasts and the dusty pink of her nipples that glistened and beckoned from the water to be touched. Arousal slammed through his blood at full force. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He didn't know if he could do this, definitely couldn't hide it.

Jaskier swallowed tightly as she approached and silently coaxed him to lean down. Seconds later her fingers were running through his hair and he had closed his eyes to focus only on that sensation. It had been a long time since someone had bathed him. He didn't remember the practice feeling quite this good. He leaned into her touch as she began to massage the soapy solution through his locks and fairly hummed in contentment as a light honey smell permeated the air.

Lyrra giggled but didn't stop. Suddenly she asked, "Jaskier, are you sitting on your hands?"

"Yes." He mumbled and cautiously looked up at her through one eye as he tried not to let the soap slide in, "You have absolutely no idea how enticing you are."

She had a pretty good idea, judging by the state of his cock. She shook her head at him and wiped a trail of suds from his face, "Why torment yourself like this then?"

He grinned at her, "It's such a delicious torment though and would I to die right now, I'd die fairly happy."

"Dunk." She ordered lightly humor coloring her tone as she stepped back.

When he reclaimed his spot on the ledge, she had a lathered rag ready. To his surprise, she didn't return to her ministrations right away. Lyrra set the rag to the side and stepped into his space. An almost bashful grimace lightened her visage, though he could still very much see her amusement with him. Her slender hands framed his face and he unconsciously leaned towards her as she claimed a kiss. Again, he white-knuckled the stone beneath him, but even as she stoked the fires of his lust, a nervous tendril that curled in his veins began to settle. Kissing had become familiar between the two of them. He hardly missed an opportunity the past week to taste her lips, more than content with the simple show of affection.

A dull whine of protest escaped him when she finally pulled away and Lyrra smirked at him, "Minx."

Her grey eyes danced mischievously and for a moment he likened her to a water nymph, "A reward for being good."

"Oh? And what other rewards do you have planned?" Jaskier questioned teasingly as she took up the rag and began to gently scrub the skin of his throat, "I can be very, very good, Lyrra."

"I know you can be good. It's why I put up with you." Lyrra murmured as she moved the cloth over his shoulders and chest, "Well that and you always seem to be around now."

He snorted, "Are you saying my proximity is the only reason you allow me favor?"

A smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head, "No, I allow you favor because you're good. You surprise me."

"How so?"

She sighed and gently splashed water where she had washed, "You know I find you attractive, but you don't push me for more than what I've already given. You could have had me a week ago at the inn, but you didn't. You leave a flower on the woodpile for me after Geralt pushes me through one of his exercises." He stilled fractionally and she caught his stare, "Didn't think I noticed?"

He shrugged awkwardly, "You never come inside with them."

She smiled, "Look at the cottage side when we go back. They've been tied and hanged to dry. The smell from the petals will last longer that way."

A strange contented warmth filled Jaskier at the knowledge that she was preserving his little gifts. He had started it as an act of comfort. The only way he knew how to fix some of her distress after those damnable sessions, but he hadn't been sure it had even been noticed. She bade him stand and turn as he puzzled over this revelation.

The rough cloth continued on its path across the tops of his shoulders and gradually continued down. Soapy suds slickened his skin, but it wasn't until she reached between his shoulder blades that he was introduced to a new sensation. Her fingers replaced the cloth and she drew light lines into his flesh. Familiar lines... Jaskier grimaced as he remembered the scars, he bore there. It had been a while since anyone had paid attention to those marks, "They don't hurt."

A displeased hum emitted from his enchantress at his words and he risked a glance back to see her glaring darkly at his rented flesh, "You were caned."

He blinked surprised that she recognized the punishment he'd received from just the scars, "Bit of a precocious pupil and the Headmaster had his lessons to impart. It was a long time ago, Lyrra. I promise it doesn't hurt."

Her glare shifted from his back to meet his face, "You were a child."

He was struck by the distress in her eyes as if the caning had taken place hours ago as opposed to years. He loved her at that moment, "Hey, I'm okay. Right as rain, yeah?"

Her hand lingered over his scars and Lyrra shook her head as if to clear away a dark fog, "Sorry... I don't like the idea of you hurt."

"Well, that's something." Jaskier murmured teasingly as he turned his attention back around, "Won't have to worry about you coming at me with a cane then."

The cloth resumed its path, "That's not funny."

"No, I suppose not." He uttered quietly as he sunk into her touch and pushed away from the pained memories of those punishments. She shocked him again when the rag was placed next to him and her hands gripped his hips. Light open-mouthed kisses were pressed into his mutilated skin making small shocks of flame burn across his back and to his extremities.

Gods be damned for this exquisite torture.

He gasped as she pressed fully against him. Her soft breasts molded to his form and her hands trailed a path to his racing heart as she continued to lavish attention to his healed wounds. His hand covered hers as her tongue caressed the underside of his shoulder blade, pulling a muffled moan from his lips. Who knew that such attention could be so overwhelmingly erotic? He was going to cum without her ever touching him where he needed it most.

As if she could read his mind, her other hand slipped down and drew a line over his cock. His hips jerked in reflex as another groan spilled from him. All pretense of a bath was gone now, he clutched at the lip of the pool, "Lyrrana fuck... tell me, luv."

"Shhh..." She breathed out as her touch became more bold, "Let me take care of you."

He wasn't about to stop her. She nipped gently at the nape of his neck just as she tugged upon him and he was sure he was going to die. There was just too much and not enough all at once. Her mouth seemed to be everywhere as her fingers teased and caressed. The rhythm of her strokes was frustrating as it was enticing. His hips bucked unconsciously into her hand for more. Already he could feel the tight coil in his loins, he was so close.

"Lyrrana..." He desperately pleaded.

Her hand tightened around his cock almost painfully, but then she slid down the length of him and pressed the heel of her hand to massage into his balls. He cried out seconds later as the coil was released and he came hard.

Fuck... Just fuck...

He had never – _never_ cum like that from a handjob. His breath was ragged as he came back to his senses and his legs actually felt fucking shaky. Without much thought beyond need, he whipped around startling Lyrra as he yanked her into him. His mouth covered hers before she could form a protest. He needed to touch her, to see her, to hear her.

_His_ , a voice growled possessively in the back of his mind. A voice he had long learned to ignore, but at that moment was more inclined to agree with – she was his for however long she would have him.

He trailed biting kisses down her jaw to her throat, intent on leaving his mark on her. Her moan was music to his ears as he played his own tender ministrations to her supple body.

"Jas...Jaskier." She gasped out laughingly as she tried to gain his attention. He hummed in acknowledgment but didn't stop his lavish kiss to her throat, "You know you don't need to return the favor."

He pulled back affronted as he stared down at her. Did she really think that he was truly the type of man who didn't enjoy giving pleasure as much as taking it?

Lyrra's eyes widened as she seemed to realize how he had taken that comment. Quiet laughter fell from her lips at his outrage as she sought to soothe his bruised ego, "You can if you want-"

"I want. I more than want. I demand, woman." Jaskier rasped firmly, still annoyed that this had even been questioned.

Brimming with amusement, Lyrra cupped his face in her hands, "Jaskier, I only meant, that I wanted to bring you pleasure, I wasn't expecting anything in return. You've given me so much else."

He still wasn't happy with that response as he pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, "And I don't expect such pleasure as payment, Lyrra. I like you...a lot in case you haven't noticed. Returning the favor as you call it, isn't a favor. It's a damn gift."

She stared at him stunned and he wanted to shake her. This shouldn't be a bloody surprise. A frustrated huff left him as he caged her against the side of the pool, "Lyrra, please by the Gods, tell me that your lovers have not all been so egregiously selfish."

He knows there have to be others. The way she had seduced him at the inn, and the way she brought him to completion a few minutes ago spoke to less traumatic sexual experiences.

Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she shrugged, "I've only ever had two."

Jaskier stared at her for a moment, "Tell me that one of those was not... that you're not counting _him_." He spat the last word distressed and she looked away from him. He knew exactly what that meant. They hadn't talked about him, the man who had abused her. He had been too afraid of opening more old wounds and she seemed more than content to let them rest, but this he would not abide, "He cannot be classified anywhere in the same vicinity as a lover, Lyrra. Not someone like that. And this other idiot you bedded?"

Lyrra sighed a faint frown twisting at her lips, "I was more comfortable giving than receiving."

That was a little more understandable to Jaskier, if still unconscionable, "I have half a mind to rent one of these rooms from Madam Hatchet and lock us both in until you know what it's like to have every kind of carnal pleasure drawn from your bones." Her eyes snapped to his in keen interest and amused protest, "You have a great deal to discover and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy showing you."

"Jaskier." Lyrra huffed lowly with a shake of her head.

He smiled darkly at her disbelief and snaked a hand between them to slip a finger along her most intimate part. She gasped at the sudden contact and he was pleased to find a slickness that betrayed her arousal. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this. He didn't give her much time to process as he stole another kiss before he gripped her hips and hefted her out of the pool.

"Jaskier!" Lyrra protested when he pulled her legs open to bare her fully to his sight and refused to let her shut them again.

It was a terribly vulnerable position, he knew, but it was also kind of the point. He gazed up at her, eyes almost black with desire, "Trust me?"

A shuddering breath stole through her under that look as she hesitantly nodded.

"Good." He purred as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee and drew her leg over his shoulder, "Lean back and relax, Lyrrana... If you want me to stop." He grinned roguishly, "Just pull my hair."

She snorted quietly, "What beast have I awoken?"

"An insatiable one." Jaskier answered as he nipped and licked his way up her thighs. So close to where he wanted to taste, but still so far.

He skillfully teased and caressed every inch before him as he listened to the harmony of her ragged breathes and muffled moans until she was a withering mess. And then he was there. Nuzzling the soft thatch of curls that marked her womanhood as she squirmed in his grasp. To get closer or away he wasn't sure, but he firmed his arm over her hips to keep her still as his hot tongue ran the length of her slit. The faint cry that echoed through the chamber was pure bliss.

He smiled and licked up the juices she was creating and nearly moaned at the taste. Better than any wine. A growl rumbled through his throat and he pushed her legs wider as he searched for the nub that would have her keening. He found it as his teeth grazed over the tender flesh and she jerked violently in his grasp. Jaskier gazed fastened to her face to make sure she was alright but found the most sinfully beautiful sight on the Continent.

Lyrra's head had tipped back, her eyes half-closed in a pleasured torment were framed by the peaks of her breasts as her chest heaved. She was magnificent. His tongue swirled a circle around her clit and she cried out and tried to squirm away. He kept her still as he continued his slow torture, adding a finger, then two, then three as he stretched her entrance.

Sweat now dampened her body as much as steam. She cried out again, "Julian, please!"

He jerked in surprise to hear his given name, but strangely he liked it. He liked it a lot. He crooked a finger inside her and dragged it across the top of her wonderful chasm as he sucked hard on her nub. The result was spectacular as Lyrra cried out once more and her walls spasmed tightly around his still thrusting fingers. Slick coated his hand as he lathed up the mess he had made.

Lyrra had had enough, however as her fingers entwined in his wet locks and she gave an urgent tug. Jaskier froze and turned a questioning glance on her. Wondering if he had inadvertently hurt her or crossed an unspoken line without realizing. She tightened her grip and rasped, "Get up here."

That was a demand he would gladly follow. In a flash, he was out of the pool and hovering over her as their lips met again. Her legs wrapped snuggly around his waist and it was all the encouragement that he needed as he thrust into her. Groans were pulled from both of them and Jaskier swore he blacked out. Gods, he had never been clutched so perfectly, hadn't known it was possible to feel like this. He had been joking when he had called himself insatiable, but he honestly didn't know if he could stop touching her now.

He couldn't help but chuckle as Lyrrana managed to reverse their positions and pinned his hands by his head. She looked as needy as he felt, "What?"

He grinned at her, "If this is what it is to worship at your alter... then I'd be a very religious man indeed."

"You're ridiculous. I'm hardly someone to be worshipped and this is nowhere near close to a church." A shaky laugh tumbled from her throat as she leaned over him. Her hair created a veil around them as she claimed a kiss that was tentative and soft as she began to ride him.

He was absolutely enraptured, "Oh, but you are. You are my goddess. My angel. My muse."

"Jaskier -"

"Julian." He murmured, desperate to hear his given name on her lips again, "Use my name."

Lyrra smiled gently at him, "Julian, shut up and move."

He heartily obliged.

They moved together searching for that crescendo. Their bodies entwined so completely that he was no longer sure where he ended and she began. Then he felt her tremble. It was his only warning before she shattered completely and utterly around him. He was overwhelmed and overcome as he cried out a second later and followed after her.

He felt like he was floating as he basked in the afterglow.

Lyrra had collapsed bonelessly against him and he barely heard her murmur, "It's never been like that before."

It's a statement he can wholly agree with, never had a coupling felt that intense. Suddenly, he felt her shaking again and for a horrible moment, he was sure that she was crying, "Lyrra?"

Only she wasn't, she was laughing as she met his worried gaze, "Well, I think we can safely say you cannot be friends with a woman or at the very least with me."

Jaskier snorted as he recalled that particular conversation, "I much prefer this anyway... We should talk about this."

A sigh left her as she rested her chin on his chest, "We should."

There's a reluctance in her gaze that he was slow to understand. He didn't get a chance to ask as a loud pounding resounded on the door to the chamber, "If youse finished in there, there are otters who be needing ta space."

A red flush suddenly coated Lyrra's cheeks and Jaskier couldn't help but laugh at her mortified expression, "Just a few minutes. We'll be out."

"Do you think she heard all of that?" Lyrra whispered as she rolled off him.

"Probably." He felt bereft at the loss of contact but merely sighed as he followed her back into the pool.

They cleaned themselves quickly, mostly because Lyrra refused to let him within touching distance until they're out of the water again. He didn't take it personally. He knew they would spend another hour in that pool if she would let him.

It isn't until they were dressing that Jaskier felt his good mood slip. He had just pulled on his breeches when he looked over to see Lyrra wringing out her hair. Her back was to him and it was the first time he had seen it bare. He approached her without thought to what he was doing until he was tracing the puckered red flesh that lied in almost the same place as his caning scars. Hers was not a caning scar...it was a damn brand. He was unsurprised when Lyrra automatically jerked from his touch.

Her eyes were wide as she turned to him, "Jaskier."

A cold pit opened in his stomach as he stared at her in horror. A quiet seething rage had begun to build and it terrified him, "Who did this? Tell me his name."

Lyrra sighed tiredly and pulled her dress the rest of the way up, hiding her scar from view, "It doesn't matter now. We need to go."

"Doesn't matter?" He questioned in disbelief, "Doesn't matter? There's a bloody brand on your back."

"I know." Lyrra snapped as she glared up at him. She drew a calming breath and slowly leaned against him, "Not here, Jaskier, please. It's not going away whether I tell you about it or not. Please let's just go. We were both so happy a moment ago."

He didn't move as he tried to gain control of his anger. He had known – _had_ _known_ she had been hurt, had been tormented, but it hadn't truly registered until he saw that fucking burn. He felt sick. Who the fuck branded someone? She seemed to sense his struggle as she leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Please."

There was another kiss and another and before he realized it, he had slipped his hands around her waist and pressed his head to hers, "Alright... alright. But we will have this discussion, Lyrra."

Her lips tightened into a thin line, but she didn't argue. He let her lead him from the bathing chamber and didn't comment on her blush as they passed a very smug-looking brothel owner. They reached the top of the stairs when an unexpected sight caught their attention. Both of them raised their brows in curiosity.

Geralt had stepped out of a room down the hall and was adjusting his shirt when he caught sight of them in turn. Behind him stood a very sated looking woman in a dressing gown which left no allusions as to what he had been up to.

There was a moment of awkward silence and Jaskier was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't him that broke it with a crass comment, but Lyrra, "So, this is what checking on your horse means."

He choked on a laugh as Geralt glowered at them, "I see you got the love bite this time."

Lyrra flushed deeper and Jaskier couldn't stop the wolfish smirk that tugged at his lips. In silent agreement, the trio decided not to say anything further as they exited the brothel and headed for Lyrra's cottage.

Jaskier made it a good five minutes before he asked, "So, how is Roach?"

Geralt didn't even look at him, "Jaskier, shut up."


	10. Simple and Complex

**Simple and Complex**

_"Twas early one morning a fair maid arose,_

_And slipped away with her lover's clothes,_

_And off to the fields a sure she goes_

_With naught e'na kiss in the morning early."_

An unwilling smile pulled at Lyrra's lips as she smothered a sigh and attempted to pay her bard no mind. She finished hanging a few freshly laundered shirts and trousers as she listened to his approach. She had slipped out of her cottage long before Jaskier had woken. A basket of laundry in hand as she went to the stream – Geralt had roused enough from his place by her hearth to note her exit but seemed incline to rest longer himself. She was grateful for the solitude. It gave her a chance to gather her thoughts and calm the whirlwind that Jaskier had incited in her. She needed the distance and the time to figure out -

"Are you really just going to ignore me?"

Him.

Lyrra glanced around the shirt she was pinning up with a raised brow to see him standing proudly with his hands on his hips, "Did you say something?"

Jaskier narrowed his gaze at her in an odd mix of exasperation and amusement, "Lyrra."

"Jaskier." She intoned and bit back a smirk as he huffed.

A sly glint entered his eyes as he began to sing again.

" _The bard arose and he discovered her sin,_

_His heart and his song composed quite the din."_

Lyrra could not help the faint laugh that left her as she listened to him. Puckish amusement danced in his blue orbs as he sidled up next to her and slid an arm around her waist.

_"And he had the will for to greet her so slim_

_With a kiss in the morning early."_

She didn't need the last line of his song to see the kiss coming. A quiet sigh left her as she welcomed his familiar embrace. Her skin still tingled with the memory of their coupling and the calm she had achieved was swiftly thwarted by his touch. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

Jaskier smiled contentedly at her, "Good morning."

"It's afternoon, you slept the morning away." Lyrra replied lightly as she moved her basket under the tree her clothesline was tethered on, "And I'm rather sure those aren't the words to that song."

"Ehh, I'm a bard, pretty much gives me free rein to change the words." Jaskier shrugged. His keen eyes cataloged her every move, "You should've slept the morning away too. You were up as long as I was."

As if to prove his point, Lyrra found herself swallowing a yawn. In all actuality, she had been up longer than he had. Her mind had not been able to let the events of the night settle and her dreams had taken a dark turn once she had drifted off. She still wasn't sure what had come over her in that bathing chamber, she was never that bold. Yet, bold was the only way to describe her actions from the time he entered until...well. A blush rose to her cheeks and she could see a salacious grin crossing Jaskier's lips from her periphery at the sight. He knew well where her mind had gone.

"Stop it." She murmured lowly, refusing to look in his direction.

"Stop what?" His tone dripped with quiet laughter.

"You know what." She glowered faintly at him and wished that she still had a few shirts to pin to the line, if only to have something to do besides stare at him.

He tilted his head and his mirthful smile continued to tease her as he said, "You are adorably shy in the light of day. I do hope that I never make you stop blushing."

It was her turn to huff, "Jaskier."

He chuckled quietly and reached for her again, "Now what happened to the woman who had her wicked way with me last night, hmm?"

Lyrra was sure her face was scarlet now at his words as she allowed him to draw her close again, "She came to her senses."

"That sounds...not good." Jaskier murmured as he tilted her chin up and frowned bemusedly at her, "I suppose it's time we actually have that talk."

Lyrra shifted awkwardly under his gaze as she ruefully wondered which talk he was referring to, their tryst or her back. Neither was a conversation she particularly wanted to have, if for completely different reasons. She had been grateful when the topic had fallen to the wayside upon returning to her cottage.

She forced a smile when she realized she was taking too long to respond, "That talk."

"Yes, the one you've been trying to figure out how to avoid since I brought it up last night." Jaskier uttered faintly amused as she looked away somewhat sheepishly and bit back a sigh, "Believe it or not, not a conversation I want to have either, but as fun, as our little dance has been... we do need to -"

He waved his hand about as he tried to find the right words. Lyrra took pity on him as her smile turned a little more genuine, "Clear the air? Create some boundaries? Form an understanding?"

Jaskier nodded, "Yes, that. That would be good."

Lyrra stifled a giggle as she saw her nerves reflected in his expression. It amazed her how he could go from unerringly confident to uncertain in a matter of seconds, especially around her. She was not someone to be nervous around. Her fingers itched with the need to touch him, reassure him. The impulse to soothe his quiet anxiety was strong and unexpected. She wasn't a tactile person by any means, she usually went out of her way to avoid being touched. Jaskier was her opposite in this manner, he felt everything, like an overgrown toddler. He picked up, played, listened, and sometimes tasted everything with which he came into contact. He took comfort in touch, she knew this implicitly.

As if to prove her unspoken point, he seemed to sense her reluctance and reached out to caress her cheek, "What is it? Talk to me."

"It's nothing – I just...I tend to get carried away with you."

Jaskier raised a brow as he prodded her to continue, "And that's a bad thing?"

"It's not like me." She mumbled quietly and resisted the urge to fidget. She didn't know how to explain to him the maelstrom he made her feel. How she found him both comforting and disconcerting. How she allowed him more liberties than anyone since...since ever.

"Again, that's a bad thing?" He was more curious now than concerned. Jaskier had been far from surprised when he had woken to find her gone... simply disappointed. He was quickly beginning to learn that avoidance was his lover's instinctual response to anything that made her -

"It's an uncomfortable thing." Lyrra grimaced.

Uncomfortable. He smiled gently at her, at least she was somewhat aware of her tendencies, "You know, I typically don't do serious."

Lyrra blinked at the strange segue, "Really? Hadn't noticed."

He bit back a laugh at her dry tone as he made his point, "Serious is complicated and boring and messy. I like easy and fun, simple... but you, my lovely Lyrra, you are very complicated and serious. But I can say with absolute certainty you are not boring. You make me curious."

She merely stared at him still unsure where he was going with his little lecture.

"Curious. Confused. _Uncomfortable_." Jaskier answered placing a special emphasis on that last word, "No, strike that – you don't make me uncomfortable; you make me uncertain. None of that is necessarily a bad thing, you know?"

"Hasn't been my experience." Lyrra replied softly.

"No, I suppose it hasn't." His fingers brushed across her back and the brand he now knew rested there and she tensed at the reminder, "I don't think that I make you uncomfortable, either. I think it's that you enjoy yourself with me that discomfits you. Tell me you didn't enjoy yourself last night."

Her cheeks burned and she couldn't meet his eyes as she fumbled for a response, "I... you know, I did."

"Do you want to do it again?" He asked quietly and linked his fingers with hers.

Lyrra felt her stomach flutter at the question as she tried vainly to ignore the heat that rushed through her veins, "...yes."

"So do I." He murmured softly and unconsciously leaned into her, "Is that really so unsettling?"

Her grey eyes were drawn to his lips, "...yes. You unsettle me, Jaskier."

"How?"

"I crave you. I've known you barely a fortnight." Lyrra whispered, not missing the desirous look that entered his eyes at her words, "And I crave your kisses and your touch... even your voice. I don't crave people. I don't know what to do with you."

"I think you know _exactly_ what to do with me." He couldn't help the tease that left his tongue even as she hit his arm, "Ow."

Vaguely annoyed, she attempted to pull away from him again, but he refused to let her step back. "Alright, okay. I'm sorry. I don't do serious, remember? It's just... this doesn't have to be hard, it can be simple."

Lyrra sighed frustrated, "Nothing about this is simple."

"Only because you're making it complicated." Jaskier pointed out somewhat humorously, "We already agreed to not get married and after last night, I think we're agreed we can't be merely friends. Especially, since we both admitted we want a repeat..." His words slowly caught up with him and he offered her an acknowledging nod, "Right, we may be a _little_ complicated."

Lyrra snorted and shook her head at him. He was utterly ridiculous and she adored it despite herself, "Let me make this simple. I like you, Jaskier. That's simple. You like me back, that's simple too. Last night was great and yes, I want it to happen again, but I'm not sure that it should."

"Why?" He breathed the questioned startled.

The possibility of them not continuing their affair had not occurred to the bard, she could see that plainly and sighed again, "In a day, a week, sometime rather soon you're going to be gone, Jaskier... And I don't - I don't want to miss you."

He looked like he had been struck and Lyrra tried not to wince under his stare or to follow after him when he stepped away. She felt cold at his abrupt distance. Perhaps, she had worded that too harshly. Guilt twisted in her gut as she silently pleaded with him to understand what she couldn't say.

"Right." A bitter laugh escaped him, "Oh, avoidance should really be your middle name, Lyrrana."

"Jaskier-"

"No." He shook his head and cut her off, "You don't want to miss me? That's shit, if ever I heard it. Let's reword that, shall we? What you really mean to say is: Jaskier, you're going to hurt me, so let's not even bother."

A stone sank with a ferocious crash in her stomach as his words and gaze scolded her like an unruly child. She wanted to be angry with him, but he wasn't entirely wrong. She stared helplessly, not sure how to respond or even if she should.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I really should've rented that room for us last night." He murmured almost sadly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lyrra."

She swallowed tightly, "I know..."

"Do you?!" His disbelief seared her and she found she couldn't meet his gaze any longer, "Do I scare you, Lyrra? Last night did I -"

"No. No, Jaskier." Lyrra interrupted before he could finish his question, "I wanted last night. You didn't push me or force me."

Jaskier stared at her as he replayed everything he had said and done in that bathing chamber. A slow realization began to creep on him, "But I did scare you."

"No."

Despite the certainty in her voice, he knew it was a lie. It wasn't physical intimacy that was causing Lyrra's hesitance over their affair, it was emotional, "I did. When I saw your back. When I demanded you let me in, I scared you."

Lyrra's lips tightened into a thin line as she glared at him, "No."

Jaskier didn't seem to hear her as he muttered, "How am I attracted to the most emotionally stunted people on the bloody Continent?"

"Jaskier." She sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "Can we forget this conversation and go back to where you kissed me good morning?"

He looked as frustrated as she felt as he, in turn, uttered, "No. I promised you last night we go at your pace, not mine... I'll see if I can get my room back at the inn."

"You don't have to." Lyrra started softly.

Jaskier forced a smile at her and she hated it, "Yeah, I do. I think we both need our space. Simpler this way."

She went to protest further, but he cut her off once again.

"Oh...one more thing." A determined expression marred his visage as he swept back into her space and pressed his lips to hers. Lyrra gasped faintly at the sudden contact and he stole the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Unconsciously, her hands rose to tangle in his hair as he backed her against the trunk of the tree. A fiery thrill rushed through her veins as coherent thought left her and all she could do was cling to him as she simply felt.

She felt his warmth and the subtle strength in his body as he pressed against her. She felt his almost desperate grip on her hips and tasted his passion as he took his fill. He hadn't kissed her like this before... He was usually gentle, curious, searching, but this was demanding, almost possessive, it was dizzying. It wasn't until she completely melted into his touch that he pulled away and pressed his head to hers.

A smug gleam sparkled in his eyes, "That's what I thought too."

Utter confusion descended on Lyrra as she stared at him, "What?"

His smile was even smugger, "The thing about having this talk is that declaring our intentions goes both ways. I'll stay at the inn, but I fully intend to end up back in your bed and if I happen to fall into your heart, all the better. You don't get to ignore me. You don't get to be afraid of me, Lyrra. I'm not that scary."

No, he was terrifying.

He stole one more kiss before starting his trek to the cottage. Lyrra was left bewildered to stare after him. She shouted out the only thing that came to mind before he got too far, "This is far from simple!"

Jaskier spun on his heel and grinned, "Yeah, but I already told you – you're complicated. And I like you. Besides, I'm not that easy to get rid of, ask Geralt."

He disappeared around the bend a second later and Lyrra covered her face in disbelief, "He's absolutely mad."

* * *

Geralt felt a headache coming on as he headed back towards the woods. Enough time had passed since he had last checked the clearing that whoever had created the mutated fleders would have had the chance to find their corpses. He hoped anyway. Otherwise, he would need to figure out another way to track down those creature's creator and that meant spending more time in the Toussaint countryside than he was comfortable. Especially, now that Jaskier and Lyrra were...

He didn't know what the fuck those two were doing.

Which in part was why he had a headache now. Jaskier had been gathering his things when he had left the cottage, muttering under his breath about being drawn to emotionally constipated people.

Geralt didn't ask.

He would really rather not know.

What he had gleaned was that they were getting rooms at the inn. Despite his earlier protestations about overstaying their welcome in Lyrra's home, he wasn't looking forward to dealing with the general populace again. He pushed the thought aside as he moved quietly through the brush. The smell of rot had only become heavier in the days that followed and he no longer needed to follow his tracks back to the clearing. The other change was the faint buzzing of flies that filled his ears. The fleders decomp had attracted more insects. His teeth clenched as he resigned himself to the fact that the creator of the two beasts either had not bothered to look for them or the corpses hadn't been discovered yet.

There certainly hadn't been any talk amongst the locals about the discovery of two fleder corpses. He sighed as he stepped fully out of the woods and casually observed the clearing again. The flesh was almost completely gone from the fleders now... wait...fleder. One. Geralt tilted his head and eyed the shadows behind the first corpse. He wasn't mistaken there was only one body now. The other was gone.

He strode forward and bent to study the ground. There were drag marks, but that could have been from an animal dragging the body away for food. Yet, he found that scenario unlikely. Most scavengers could sense a potentially dangerous meal. The venom the fleder created would likely have made it toxic to any creature that attempted to eat it.

More silently than he had entered the clearing, he exited following the tracks. Even then, he could have followed his nose the stench was so bad. Whoever or whatever had come to claim the body had done so recently. It wasn't long before he stumbled onto a narrow path.

The trees had thinned and he could make out neatly organized rows of barren grape vines through the foliage. He must have been on the edge of one of the vineyards. Frowning, he continued on his hunt. Geralt noted the unnatural stillness in the air as he walked. He heard no birds or little critters scurrying through the brush. There were no distant sounds of farmhands, not even a breeze of wind to stir the leaves. A familiar twinge in his gut had him ill at ease, he wasn't the only predator afoot.

He must have walked a quarter-mile when he did finally hear it. It was low and shrill like an out of tune string on a lute. A song. Someone was singing. His twinge turned into a solid sinking instinct as he had a good assumption of what he was about to discover. His hand twitched for his sword as he dimly realized he had not brought the silver one with him. He had anticipated a human threat, not a monster. Geralt knew he had a choice to make – he could continue on and have his assumptions proven correct, but be ill-equipped to deal with the threat or he could head back and return later to a threat that had potentially disappeared.

Sighing quietly, he drew his sword and bent to pull a small silver dagger from his boot. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. He skirted to the edge of the path as he moved like a stalking cat around the bend. His golden eyes missed nothing as he took in the dilapidated ruins of an old manor. Past the tumbled walls he could make out the form of a woman. Her singing was louder now as she hunched over the rotted form of the missing fleder. A bruxa.

He watched for a moment as the bruxa continued to sing. Her head tilted back enough that he could see what appeared to be tears streaming down her cheeks as she caressed the festered corpse. Geralt frowned in confusion.

Had the bruxa made the fleders? Was that even possible?

It wasn't unheard of for bruxae to hunt in packs, but he had never known a bruxa to bother with a fleder. The creatures were usually too stupid and wild to be of notice to the high order vampires.

A low grumbling sounded behind him and Geralt stiffened. It seemed fate had taken his choice from his hand. He whipped around to see a very alive, very hungry looking fleder. The commotion had garnered the attention of the bruxa and her song turned into a screeching cry.

"Fuck." Geralt muttered.


	11. It's Not the Fall

**It's Not the Fall**

A cloud of dirt erupted into the air as Geralt landed on his back. His medallion hummed steadily against his chest as he quickly gathered his bearings.

His sword landed a few feet from him.

The bruxa's scream continued to assault his ears as he kept a wary track of the fleder bearing down on him again. A curse fell from his lips as he barely managed to avoid an attack. The setting sun glinted almost tauntingly in his golden eyes and Geralt just managed to bite back a growl.

_Had the whole fucking universe come against him?_

A clawed hand slashed down at his face and Geralt only had his quick reflexes to thank as he caught the wrist before those too sharp talons could tear into his eyes. With little thought, he thrust the silver dagger in hand across the creature's stomach and felt the flesh give way like butter. The fleder roared in shocked-pain and flew back. It allowed Geralt the chance to roll to his feet and grab his sword.

Only then did the witcher notice the silence.

Not daring to pull his gaze away from the infuriated vampire, Geralt pushed his senses out as he sought the bruxa, even as the fleder attacked again.

* * *

Jaskier hadn't come to the Rose and Pine.

Lyrra tried to swallow her disappointment as she went about her duties. She quietly berated herself for being so foolish as she tried to remember that this was what she had wanted. She had wanted peace again, to feel in control of herself and to return to a routine that was familiar. Things that had been inexplicably absent since Jaskier had sauntered into her life. He was giving her exactly what she had desired with his distance. It dismayed her how easily he had disrupted everything, even more so when she realized just how quickly she had adjusted to his presence. It felt like he had been with her for months, not weeks. She bit back a frustrated sigh. She shouldn't be pining for a man she barely knew.

_He was a dalliance, nothing more._

She would repeat that until she believed it.

"Another beer, luv."

Lyrra nodded at a strange fellow in a brown smock and moved to collect another order. She needed to keep busy that was all. She moved about the tavern in a familiar dance. Kept her head bowed and the mugs of ale full as she faded into the background. Hillard was the only one to pay her much mind and even then, it was only a curious look or two.

The old barkeep had noticed the conspicuous absence of a certain minstrel, as well. He, like Lyrra, had grown used to the boy's presence in the pub – more so his inane chatter and propensity to break into song after have a few glasses of beer or wine. Not that the bard didn't sing without the alcohol, it was just those songs were quite a bit tamer than what spilled from his mouth after a little liquid courage – while often amusing, wasn't always...right proper. In truth, the boy was lucky the people of Glynedol were rather hard to offend or else he would have been dealt a resounding beating on more than one occasion. And while Hillard would never mention it aloud, he was rather delighted by the bard's propensity for calling Tyssa, Madam Hatchet, even when in mixed company.

It wasn't until the night was nearly half over that the barkeep finally gave in to his curiosity, "Alright lass, where is'e?"

Lyrra frowned as she passed him a tray, "Where's who?"

The deadpan stare she received had a smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Hillard dryly intoned, "King Llorad o'course. Yer boy, lass. Where's yer boy?"

"He's not my anything." Lyrra responded back softly as she took the now drink laden tray, "I dunno where he is. I'm not his keeper."

Hillard frowned churlishly as he asked archly, "Did 'e do somethin'?"

Lyrra smiled faintly at the older man's worry and shook her head, "Nothing that I didn't want. Promise."

She skittered off before he could ask any further questions. Despite appearances, Hillard was smarter than most gave him credit and she had no doubt that he was putting together the pieces without much input from her. After all, two years of working for the man had given him a decent insight into her proclivities.

Even still, the night seemed to drag on and Lyrra found herself glancing toward the tavern door any time it opened. Jaskier never appeared, nor did Geralt and she found his lack of presence almost as disheartening. The witcher never hung around for long, ever the loner, but his imposing figure had become something of a comfort to her.

As time passed and the customers came and went, Lyrra cleared the last of the tables and wished Mirel a good night as the other girl headed out with Owain. The moon sat full in the sky as she met Hillard on the road outside. The barkeep had become ever more protective over the girls in his employ after Lyrra's attack, she didn't bother protesting an escort anymore. She did, however, protest the silent judgment his company engendered.

She bit back a growl of frustration as she heaved a sigh and bit out, "What?"

"I dinnae say anythin'." Hillard rumbled back loftily.

Lyrra pursed her lips in annoyance as she sent him an unimpressed stare, "You didn't have to."

After a long moment, the barkeep shrugged, "Ye like 'im, he likes ye. Why chase 'im off?"

"What makes you think I chased him off?" Lyrra questioned lightly as she tried to ignore the bland stare she was receiving from the older man. She fidgeted after a moment and scowled, "Fine. There's no point in starting something more serious when he'll be gone soon... if he's not already."

She would like to think that Jaskier would say goodbye before he left, but she knew her reticence had hurt him more than he had allowed her to see.

"Hmmp." Hillard grunted dubiously but refrained from further comment. He had to remind himself that it wasn't his place to counsel his barmaid as if she were his daughter. To be fair if she had been his daughter, he would have chased the bard off the first night he had flirted with the girl.

His disbelief gnawed at Lyrra, however, and she growled, "What?"

Hillard sighed and stopped. He looked at her knowingly, almost sadly, "He'll be gone soon or ye will?"

Lyrra damn near froze as she fought to keep her surprise from her face. Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she broke their stare, "How..."

The barkeep bit back another sigh, "Aye, girl – I've been around a bit. Ye've been restless, eyes searchin' and ears open. Pushin' ta bard away was ta the last clue. Ye was neva gonna stick around 'ere foreva. Surprised ye hadn't left sooner."

Lyrra shrugged, "I've liked it here."

"Ye've had a good break." A faint smile tinged the older man's lips, "But ta game still calls to ye."

Her grey eyes flashed with a mix of longing and anticipation and she couldn't deny his words. A rueful smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she caught Hillard's commiserating stare, "Still a pirate at heart, Hillard?"

"Pirate captain, lass." He corrected softly as a roguish grin flashed across his mouth, but Lyrra didn't miss the faint gleam of longing in his hazel gaze.

She had been lucky to stumble upon Glynedol when she had. Ill and quite frankly waiting for death, an old farmer had found her bleeding out in a vineyard and had taken her immediately to Tyssa. The old madam had taken her in without question and fetched the town healer. It was in the weeks that followed in which the former princess had discovered what exactly the small town she had stumbled upon really was – a retirement community for the outlaws and vagabonds. Those that hadn't been caught or killed for their exploits anyway. She had never felt more at home.

Hillard was right, however. That feeling of comfort and familiarity had started to become suffocating and she had been itching to move on. She had originally planned to be gone by the end of the harvest season, but the oddness of the last few months made her think that she had stayed too long already. Her little sparring sessions with Geralt had reinforced that fact. Her reflexes were not as sharp as they once were – she refused to believe that the witcher was just that good.

She and the barkeep turned down the path to her cottage. A comfortable silence now enveloped them, but Lyrra's mind continued to whirl. She ignored the sinking sensation in her belly as she braced to enter an empty home. Jaskier and Geralt's departure would be the last string holding her back from leaving... she truly had no other reason to stay. She couldn't explain why that made her sad. Moving to a new town had never caused her such grief, such uncertainty before. Hillard seemed to sense her thoughts as he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

Yet as the duo neared her cottage, Lyrra frowned as she noticed a light emanating from the window. Her brow furrowed in confusion. A horse, no two horses lingered in her pasture. She only recognized Roach. The witcher had retrieved her from the stables just that morning. She couldn't fathom whom the other horse belonged to. Jaskier hadn't seemed overly fond of the creatures himself.

She picked up her stride and ignored Hillard's muffled curse as he moved to keep up with her as he sensed her unease. It took only a handful of moments before she crossed the threshold of her home and walked into a nightmare.

Lyrra barely managed to duck in time as a sword swung at her head. A curse left her lips as she glared up at the golden-eyed witcher, "You kill me in my own home and I will come back as a wraith to torment you."

Geralt merely grunted and helped her up. She noticed then the blood coating his clothes and skin. It was hard to see in the dim light from the fireplace against his dark clothing, but a faint copperish scent cloyed at her nose. This time her brow creased in concern, "Are you hurt?"

Hillard entered the cottage behind her more cautiously. He eyed the witcher warily for a moment before quickly evaluating the rest of the room.

Geralt paid him little mind as he shook his head wearily, "No, but I need to fetch the healer."

Lyrra frowned but didn't have the chance to question him further as she heard Hillard suck in a sharp breath. Her gaze followed his into her bedroom. She could just make out the form of a man lying prone on her bed. Hillard blustered forward for a better look as Lyrra snapped a demanding gaze back on the witcher, "Jaskier -"

"It's not him." Geralt murmured, impatience coating his tone, "I don't know his name. He was attacked by a bruxa. Lyrra, where can I find the healer?"

"It's Tyllan." Hillard grumbled casting a grim look at Lyrra as he ambled out of her bedroom, "He's a right mess, lass. I'll fetch Mirel's ma, but ye take care o'im."

Lyrra nodded, not bothering to watch as the old barkeep left. She slid around Geralt to her bedroom, "Geralt, get me some water from the well, please."

She quickly lit the lamp on her bedside table and turned to pull out a few cloths from her chest. She didn't have much left after taking care of Geralt's shoulder. She grimaced and grabbed a near-empty bottle of liniment as well. It wasn't until she collected her supplies that she finally turned toward the bed. She bit back a gasp as she took in the man on her bed.

Tyllan was the blacksmith's son. He ran his own shop in Belhaven but visited his father often. The man was built like a fortress. He was easily a few inches taller than Geralt with just as much muscle, but he looked nothing like the imposing man she knew him to be now. His normally tan skin was paler than the moon. Yet, it was the flesh around his throat that had her attention. It had been torn open like soft cheese and a moss-like substance had been pressed into his wound. She didn't dare touch it. Her grey gaze roved lower as she took in the slashes to his chest that wept slowly. She pressed her clothes over the wounds and held in a sigh as she tried to ignore the amount of blood Tyllan was covered in.

Geralt came to her side and poured the requested water into her basin on the table. Lyrra spared him a glance, "Are you sure you're not hurt? Your shoulder -"

"I'm fine, help him." Geralt murmured as he wet a cloth and passed it to her.

She frowned at him, "What happened?"

* * *

"OI!"

A vague swishing sound of a projectile being launched through the air registered to Geralt's senses long before the shout had. He barely ducked in time as an axe flew past his head and embedded itself into the fleder bearing down on him again.

It landed with a sickening thunk.

The creature shrieked in pain, but the unexpected attacked worked in the witcher's favor as he managed to get his dagger through the throat of the lesser vampire without becoming speared by its talons. The memory of his last fleder attack was all too clear as he pulled away from the creature and ignored the dull throbbing from his shoulder. He ripped the axe from its chest as it fell to the ground, satisfied that it wouldn't be getting back up.

A shrill scream shattered the air and Geralt felt his feet skid backwards before he had a chance to even look for who assisted him.

The bruxa.

He whipped around, expecting to see the vampiress advancing from his blind spot. Yet, no one was there.

His golden eyes swept the area wildly. He spotted the horse before he spotted its rider and the bruxa's latest victim. She had the man pinned to the ground. His arms straining as he tried valiantly to keep her fangs from his throat. Her nails like lethally sharp claws dragged across his chest, ripping fabric and flesh, to tear into his arm. The man roared in agony, his fingers pressed into her eyes and she screamed again. This time throwing the man unconscious from the soundwave.

Geralt expected the scream as he gathered his silver dagger and quickly cast Quen to ward himself. The bruxa was too busy to notice his approach. He fairly lunged across the yard and slammed his dagger into the bruxa's back just as her fangs clenched upon the man's throat. His blade tore down through the hard muscle of her back, sizzling as it went, and finally pierced her heart. Her mouth opened in surprised torment, letting the man beneath her go as she fell into death's embrace.

Geralt hauled her small form off the large man as he moved to assess his wounds. His throat was bleeding profusely and the witcher wasn't sure if he could stem the flow... or even if he did if it would be enough to save the man. His attention turned abruptly to the horse and he fairly yanked the saddlebags from the poor beast as he sought out a useful compress. There wasn't much to find and Geralt growled as he eyed his surroundings. The drying moss dangling from a nearby tree-line caught his attention and he gathered as much as he could before packing it tightly into the man's wounds.

The man was horribly pale, but the shallow quiver of his chest gave Geralt hope that he would survive.

* * *

The healer had arrived as Geralt told his tale and related his and Jaskier's findings from a few days prior. The small woman pushed Lyrra out of the way as she laid out her own supplies. She clucked disapprovingly under her breath as she listened to the witcher's words, but said nothing as she examined Tyllan closely.

A piercing look from her emerald eyes, so similar, yet so different from Mirel's was all Lyrra needed to vacate her bedroom. She tugged gently on Geralt's arm and swiftly snatched a few of the healer's bandages. She had long learned not to ask what it was exactly that Nyria did to heal people so close to death. To Lyrra there was no doubt that Tyllan was on that particular doorstep. The woman, however, always demanded privacy to perform her craft and Lyrra had the distinct feeling she would be without a bed again. Hillard hovered in her front room as Geralt followed after her.

She quietly bade him sit before the fire and moved to peel his soiled shirt from his shoulder. The witcher flinched away from her with a scowl and Lyrra merely raised an unimpressed brow, "Yeah, you're really fine. You've probably broken it open again."

Geralt frowned, "It's just tender."

"How can you be sure? You're slathered in blood." Lyrra intoned dryly as she ignored Hillard's muffled snort. Not even his hair had escaped, as splotches of red and brown – she assumed was dirt - glinted in the firelight.

She pulled a bandaged from her pocket and reached for his shirt again. To her surprise, she found an old dressing wrapped around his wound. She hadn't taken Geralt as the type to properly care for his injuries once he initially healed. The faintest staining of pink had risen to the clothes surface and she sighed, "It needs to be replaced. Shirt off."

Geralt shook his head, "It can wait. It'll be changed once I get a chance to bathe."

Lyrra pursed her lips in a frown, but couldn't disagree with that logic. Unbidden, she turned her attention toward Hillard, but found the old barkeep staring intently at Geralt, "Where did ye say this attack 'appened?"

"About four miles south of here. There was an old ruined farmhouse that they were congregating at – I would have the townsfolk stay away from there for the time being." Geralt answered after a moment. He turned his own hard gaze on the older man, "At least until I can head back and check for anything else lurking."

"Hmmph." Hillard grunted in agreement, but his brown eyes held a glint of worry that caught Geralt's attention, especially when the barkeep spared a quick glance at Lyrra who had suddenly taken an interest in feeding the fire, "I should get Myer down 'ere for 'is, boy."

Lyrra bit her lip and nodded her understanding, "He'll be worried, especially if he was expecting Tyllan. You should take the horse with you."

She stood and walked with him outside as Hillard quietly brought up sleeping arrangements. It wasn't until they were a good distance from the cottage door that their tone turned quieter and more serious, "It's odd that those creatures went ta the Ol'Croorey house."

Lyrra shook her head, "Not really. The magic of that place attracts all kinds. I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner."

Hillard scoffed, "Tha place attracts those needin' a place ta 'ide."

"Well..." Lyrra drawled with a pointed glance. That had been the purpose of the Croorey House in a town of criminals. A place for the people to shelter if any law or crossed assailants reared their heads in Glynedol. "I'll head out there tomorrow. Check to make sure no one was using it as intended."

Hillard grumbled under his breath, "Jus be careful, lass. In an' out. Ya don't need one o'those creatures getting' ye either."

She nodded as she waved the older man off. If anything, slipping into the Croorey House would be the opportunity for her to assess her skills. It had been a long time since she had to sneak into anywhere. She turned and headed back into the cottage, only to be met with Geralt's piercingly expectant stare.

He had barely moved from his place by the fire, "What's the Croorey House?"

Lyrra blinked, "You could hear that all the way in here?"

A weary sigh fell from his lips, "Mutant... remember?"

Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she asked almost hesitantly, "Do I want to know what else you can sense?"

"Lyrra." Geralt warned quietly, not to be deterred by her weak attempt at distraction.

She paid his warning little mind as she pulled out her basket of laundry from the morning. Her fingers quickly shifted through the layers of garments before she pulled out a dark shirt and passed it to Geralt. He arched a brow, not having realized she had taken his clothing for washing but didn't move to claim his property.

Again he growled, "The Croorey House, Lyrra."

She stifled a sigh and placed the shirt next to him. She didn't know how to explain Croorey House without explaining the town and neither was an explanation she wanted to give. Slowly, choosing her words carefully, Lyrra began to explain, "Glynedol is... different from other towns. Its people are different."

Geralt tilted his head and waited for her to continue.

"Many here have difficult pasts – pasts that have the potential to come back and haunt." She pressed on quietly, "So, years ago, the town came together and created a... a sanctuary of sorts. The Old Croorey House is that sanctuary for any who need a place to hide. It's where your vampires were dwelling."

The witcher frowned, "That place was all ruins and framework. It'd be a poor hiding spot, let alone sanctuary."

A sly smile twitched at her lips, "Well, that's rather the point. No one is supposed to know that there Is anything there."

"An illusion." Geralt murmured as he remembered the way his medallion had continued to thrum after he had dispatched the vampires. He had assumed another creature was in the area, but if he had been inside a spelled space then the results would be similar, "Glynedol has a mage at its service?"

"An elf."

Nyria's voice crackled through the room like a snapping whip. Her green eyes burned hollowly, as the duo turned to her. She eyed Geralt's shoulder in much the same way Lyrra had, but made no moves to offer him aid, "Tyllan will need care through the night. Do you have a chair to spare, Lyrra?"

The young woman nodded as she grabbed a wooden back from her small table to move inside. Nyria cocked a brow at the witcher, her voice almost brittle as she chided, "I did not heal you to have my work spoiled. Have a care."

"I'm fine." Geralt bit out, "The man in there is the only patient you need be worried about."

Nyria sniffed unimpressed, "Don't come running to me when infection sets in."

Lyrra appeared at her shoulder, a faint smile twitching at her lips as the elf spun on her heel and to her patient's side. The barmaid crossed her arms as she murmured softly, "She likes you."

Geralt raised a disbelieving brow, "I would hate to see how she treats those she doesn't like."

"If she didn't like you, she would have ignored you." Lyrra continued just as quietly as she stifled a yawn.

Geralt nudged his bedroll to her and picked up the clean shirt from the floor. It was time he cleaned himself up, "You should sleep."

Lyrra shook her head, "I'll wait until Myer gets here. You may need a buffer if he decides you're to blame for his son's state."

"Sleep, Lyrra." Geralt ordered unconcerned as he exited the cottage and headed for the stream.

* * *

Jaskier bit back a weary sigh as looked tiredly up at the building before him. The cobbled stone and plastered walls of the inn were a welcome sight after such a long day. Yet, even in his weary state Jaskier hesitated to enter and succumb to the simple pleasure of a soft bed and a hot meal. He itched to return to the cottage and seduce his way back into the arms of his recalcitrant enchantress. Despite his desires, he hadn't been lying when he had told Lyrra that they both needed space, however. All of it due to six words.

_I don't want to miss you._

Those six little words had been bandying about his head since leaving her lips. Oddly, it was both the most hurtful and sweetest thing that had ever been said to him. Whether Lyrra knew it or not, she had struck a nerve he had thought he had long since buried. She had incited thoughts that were normally induced in darker moments, lonely ones when company was scarce and his drink a tad too strong.

_I don't want to miss you._

Was he not worth missing?

Was he doomed to wander the world begging for even a scrap of true affection?

Worse yet, was the realization that there was someone who could, who potentially could, give him that attention he so craved, but that she didn't want to.

…

No, that wasn't fair. She was afraid to...and that was just heartbreaking.

He also knew he hadn't been fair to her with his translation of her meaning either. He had seen the faint sheen of her pain before it had been glossed over by guilt. It had made him feel like an utter bastard. She had every conceivable reason to be leery of him and his intentions and he had thrown it back in her face.

It was all too intense. Too much. Too soon.

Lyrra had been right. They barely knew each other, had barely scratched the surface with each other, and neither one of them had been particularly interested in that scratch going deeper. For all his blather, Jaskier was very good at keeping his past in his past. As his father would say, he hid behind his inanity.

Inanity that had almost damn disappeared with her bloody words. Oh, how he had become so serious in those few minutes, had shown her... He didn't know what.

Bollocks, he had made a mess of it.

Even that kiss had revealed too much, too soon.

He wanted to groan.

He had fallen in love before – this was nothing new, but falling had always felt like a blissful freefall before. Where his heart tightened and beat a little faster, where the butterflies fluttered erratically in his belly, where he felt breathless and besotted almost painfully so. He had the same sensations with Lyrra, but this fall felt more like a plummet down a steeply rocky mountain that was leaving scrapes and bruises with his descent. It was bloody terrifying... and fantastic.

A wicked grin spread across his lips.

Yes, he needed his space. He needed to regain some of the equilibrium that he had lost in the past weeks before he tumbled down that mountain again. It had taken him until he had reached the Rose and Pine to realize that said space would be scarce in a town the size of Glynedol. He needed to go further and to spend a few days to himself.

He needed Lyrra to miss him.

He had left word at the inn for Geralt and Lyrra with only a quick muttered prayer the bloody idiot innkeeper would get it to them before he departed.

It had taken a little more than half a day to walk.

Belhaven.

He pulled on the heavy wooden door to the inn and was pleasantly surprised to find a crowd still gathered, despite the late hour. The innkeeper a portly man of sixty raised a curious brow as he took in the flashy silk apparel of the bard.

"Here for the dice tournament?" His low voice grumbled in question.

Jaskier smiled, "Indeed, I am."

He never noticed the twin pair of eyes that followed his entrance as he requested a room.


	12. Jade Eyes and Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so this chapter is a bit of filler to get to the next plot point and character development. Bear with me and apologies for any grammatical mistakes I didn't have time to do a thorough vetting of this chapter. Thank you for all your support, I love hearing from you guy and the kudoss. Please enjoy and review.

**Jade Eyes and Trees**

The chill from the creek water was both refreshing and uncomfortable. Geralt held in a hiss as the frigid current rushed almost too harshly against his new and healing wounds. He wouldn't deny it felt good to remove the blood and grime from his skin, but he rather wished he had been able to do so in a warm bath. He washed quickly, not wanting to be caught in a vulnerable position. It mattered little to the witcher that Lyrra had proven herself to be a friend, he was still out in the open and despite his capabilities the years of surviving alone had his instincts screaming to move quickly. It didn't help that the cottage had a steady stream of strangers due to him stupidly walking into an unknown situation unprepared. He doubted the man who had attempted to save him would have been so direly wounded had Geralt brought more than a dagger with him. It had been careless and stupid, an act of hubris, and not one that he was typically prone to. Cold water was more than he deserved.

Grunting quietly, he gingerly removed the bandages from his shoulder and rinsed the wound. The skin had broken open slightly. Not as bad as it could have been, but still annoying. His movements felt sluggish in their haste and he bit back another hiss when he slipped against the bank of the creek.

Fuck.

A scowl painted his mien as he pulled himself out of the water and to his clothes. He didn't bother drying properly and instead yanked on his trousers and boots before sliding his dagger into his boot and another in his belt. A thin stream of blood began to trickle down his chest at his sharp movements which only deepened his scowl as he caught the faint scent of jasmine and cedar.

"I thought I told you to rest." Geralt paused in his movements and arched a brow as he turned to look over his shoulder. Lyrra stood only a few feet away, hidden by the shadows of a tree, but he still saw her. What bothered him was that he hadn't heard her approach.

She met his glare with a raised brow, "You were under the impression that I would listen?"

His glower turned exasperated as he briefly thought of how perfect she and Jaskier were for each other, "I don't need a nursemaid."

Lyrra bit back a smile as she drew closer, "What can I say, I'm a worrier."

Geralt sent her a disbelieving look before laying out the bandages and a small rag he had taken from her cottage. His shoulder wound had already clotted, but his chest was still stained with his blood and would only get worse once he applied his healing poultice. Lyrra stepped just within arm's reach and he barely graced a look to her open palm before sighing and nodding to a bag behind him, "Grab the balm inside."

He ignored the rustling behind him as Lyrra did as he bid, he noted that even that soft sound was almost nonexistent. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that she had made noise on purpose, instinct told him that she could have removed his supplies without him being any the wiser if she so chose. The thought mulled about as she snagged his rag. Geralt sighed quietly but leaned back to give her space as she tended to his shoulder. Admittedly, the process went quicker when it was done by another set of hands, but he wasn't inclined to admit it.

He raised a brow at her as she finished tightening the bandage and handed him his shirt, "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Lyrra intoned back with that same dry tone.

She avoided his awaiting gaze and barely kept from fidgeting as he remained silent. Geralt wasn't stupid and he was patient. Something was on the former Princess's mind, other than his wound-care. Her grey eyes flickered to his golden stare before darting away again. Where he had grown used to Jaskier prattling incessantly to fill these silences, Lyrra seemed to be more inclined to endure it.

At least until he began gathering his things together. A shuddering breath escaped her and he turned his awaiting gaze back to her face. Lyrra's mouth moved silently for a second before halting words flowed forth, "The creatures... from the Croorey House... if there are no further ones up there, Glynedol should be safe, correct?"

Geralt tilted his head as he studied her, he had the suspicion that her inquiry had different motives than the town's safety. Slowly, he gave a nod, "As safe as it's ever been anyway."

"Would that mean your business is finished here?" She asked softly, her grey gaze flickering away from his again.

Geralt blinked, "Should it be?"

He wouldn't be surprised if the locals were pushing for his departure. It wouldn't be the first time his presence had been ill-tolerated... Except his presence had been chiefly ignored in Glynedol. He had been given a few suspicious looks from a local or two, but most had level a measuring eye to him, sniffed, and then moved on with their business as if he were no more a burden than a traveling merchant.

Lyrra seemed to sense his line of thought as she grimaced faintly, "No one's demanding you leave. It's just your wound actually isn't too far from healing fully; despite the new collection of bruises you've acquired. You mentioned you'd stay as long as it took for you to heal..."

"I also said I would stay until your attacker wasn't a concern." He reminded her as he tugged his bag over his shoulder, "It's been a week and I'm not satisfied with your training progress."

Lyrra rolled her eyes and muttered something about overprotective idiots in Elder under her breath. Flushing faintly when he responded in kind about stubborn princesses.

She hummed curiously, "How many languages do you know?"

"Enough." Geralt grumbled quietly, "As for overprotective – will I get that lament when I tell you not to go to the Croorey House tomorrow?"

"Yes." Lyrra huffed with a light glare, "And I'm going anyway."

The witcher frowned, "It's dangerous."

"So's waking up, yet I do that too." Lyrra mouthed petulantly and he was tempted to smack her upside the head or make her go through a training drill.

He breathed out through his nose and began to meander back up the pathway to the cottage, "You're not going by yourself."

Another huff reached his ears, but no protest followed his words. He wasn't sure if that meant she was agreeing to his terms or was merely placating him. It didn't much matter either way. He stood by his statement; he wouldn't let her up there alone.

* * *

"Two hundred crown?" Jaskier grimaced as he looked about the cozy little inn the dice tournament was taking place. There were, maybe, thirty other potential gamblers present, surely the entry fee shouldn't be so high for this motley little crew, "Bit extreme, don't you think?"

A pallid man with wireframe rims that seem to extended passed his nose near to his mouth frowned unimpressed at the bard, "Two hundred is the buy-in. If you don't have the coin then piss off."

Jaskier scowled churlishly as he handed over his coin purse, suddenly glad he had paid for his room and board before entering the tournament. Now, he just hoped he didn't lose it all.

Wireframes handed him a green tassel to mark him as one of the players. He pulled the soft fabric through his fingers as he meandered away from the entry table. Lazily, his azure gaze flicked about the room as he took in others waiting to add themselves to the tournament and those who had already gained their green tassels. Strangely, he noted there were more than a few noblemen participating. At least Jaskier assumed they were noblemen based on the expensive cut of their clothing. Actually...

Jaskier spun languidly on his heel as he realized there weren't many who didn't look like they had a fair amount of coin... To be fair, he supposed, the buy-in for the tournament was a little extravagant, but not wholly unattainable. It did make him pause; however, he did not want to end up on the bad side of some landed gentry. Well, not through gambling anyway. Lords tended to hold grudges over lost money far fiercer than they did their wives.

"You look lost."

The bard startled slightly as a voice of warm honey breezed right by his ear. His head sharply turned more curious than alarmed, already rambling out, "No, I'm...uh..."

His words petered off as jade green eyes enraptured him and he felt a rush of air escape of his lungs as he murmured a soft, "Oh..."

The vixen before him smiled coyly. A dark lock of curly hair fell across her forehead and into her eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach up and brush it away. She giggled lightly, "Oh?"

"Hello." He uttered, unblinkingly. His gaze devoured this woman's delicate features and smooth skin. She was stunning and he was caught unaware by the flow of arousal that suddenly spiraled through his veins, "I'm Jaskier."

A delighted trill seemed to purr from her mouth as she repeated his name, "Jaskier...Buttercup. How sweet. You're a bard."

Despite the fact that she hadn't paid him any true compliment, Jaskier's chest puffed up in diminutive pride as he replied, "I am, milady."

"Oh no, please... call me, Inara." She simpered prettily and reached out to trail her fingers lightly across the back of his hand.

Jaskier felt flushed at the contact and he swallowed tightly, suddenly unable to focus on anything other than the desirous fires that lit his veins. Somewhere a small voice screamed at him that something wasn't right, but he couldn't bring himself to listen. He nearly choked on his breath as he fought to remember how to form the words with which he made his livelihood. Finally, he managed to breathe out, "Inara..."

Her smile widened slightly in satisfaction as she proceeded to ask, "Do you sing as handsomely as you look?"

"I... uh... I." A clever retort danced at the tip of his tongue, but yet his struggle to remember how to make his voice work continued. As did the strange war of lust and hesitance waging inside him.

He was interrupted from further replying as Wire Frames made a call to the end of the participating entry. The small man's shrilly dull voice was enough to break his stare from the enchantress before him as his azure gaze swung briskly toward the front of the room. Instructions were being spoken of the tournament's rules and penalties for those caught cheating. Yet, the brief interlude was enough to cool the flames the mysterious Inara sparked.

Once again feeling in control of his faculties, Jaskier turned to address the lady but found that she had disappeared from his side. He searched almost wildly about the room but found only a man watching him intently from a far corner. He arched a curious brow but quickly followed the other gamblers into the main room. He felt unsettled and uncertain as he stood at the table for his first game.

What the fuck had he stumbled into?

* * *

It was just before the light of day that Lyrra made her escape from the cottage. She pulled on her trousers and shirt next to the creek where she had found Geralt only hours previously. Her sleep had been restless as she listened to Nyria and Myer take turns watching over Tyllan thru the night. The old blacksmith had barely given Lyrra and Geralt a glance when he arrived, his focus firmly planted on his ailing son. Lyrra was still trying to determine if his current dismissal was boon or not – worried parents were an enigma to the former princess.

Biting back a sigh, she tugged her boots on and pulled a light vest over her shirt. She had briefly considered grabbing her headscarf and hat, but the Croorey House laid on a long-neglected path. There was only overgrowth and light forest between it and her cottage, no one would see her dressed so. She had tethered her hair into a long braid, but that was more for practicality than vanity. Once she deemed herself ready for the four-mile trek she set off at a brisk pace. She hoped to be back before the rest of her cottage's inhabitants broke their fasts for the day.

Of course, best-laid plans and all that... she was halfway to her destination when she realized she was being followed. She would have panicked, the thought of her attacker still lingered in the back of her mind, if it weren't for the fact that she had a decent idea of who exactly was following her. Holding in a quiet sigh, Lyrra made her steps as quiet as possible as she trekked onward.

The foliage around the path to the Croorey House began to thicken and she knew that it wouldn't be much longer until she reached the safehouse. Quickly, she stepped off the path and began to use the shadow of the trees for cover. Despite that Geralt had killed the creatures he had encountered in this area, even he had been hesitant to say that the fleder infestation was completely clear. It was why he hadn't wanted her to come up here alone. However, he didn't understand it was quicker for her to do her work when she had no one accompanying her. Also, she had the distinct impression that the hulking witcher was beginning to put the pieces of her past together and she wasn't quite ready to divulge any more about herself to him...or Jaskier.

A small pang of guilt and hurt continued to resound in her at the thought of the bard. Lyrra knew that he was giving her space, but she hadn't expected him to vanish completely. Yet, even that seemed unfair when she realized they had been parted for less than a day. Somehow, without his chatter or quiet strumming to fill the silence, it seemed like he had been gone for much longer. It uneased her how quickly she had become used to his presence...expected it even. She had to remind herself that his absence was a good thing, even though it was beginning to make her feel wretched.

All of this played through her mind as she swiftly ducked under branches and sidestepped small dips and burrows in the ground. An ominous quiet had fallen over the section of the forest she scurried through – she was close. Unthinkingly, Lyrra leapt and grasped a low hanging branch. She dangled for a moment and then took a deep breath before gently swinging her legs.

One swing.

Her hands lifted up slightly as her legs kicked back.

Two swings.

Again. she gained a little more height.

Three...

The momentum was enough for her to heave up on top of the branch before scaling a little higher. Her arms weren't nearly as shaky as she expected them to be. It had been a long time since she had performed any type of acrobatic feats, but then trying to hold a sword against a witcher was bound to reform her muscles. She had been tediously sore the first few days of Geralt's little training regime.

With a swiftness, she didn't quite feel, Lyrra jumped from one tree to the next until she was at the edge of the Croorey property. From the ground, the old house look liked a grouping dilapidated ruins and overgrown weeds. This had been done purposefully, a marker for those who knew what to look for, and an uninteresting spot for those who didn't. However, if one climbed high enough - as Lyrra had – the view of the Croorey House became much different.

Gone was the image of the old ruined site and its place stood a modest rock and log cabin and a well. Perfect for a person, maybe two, to stay in, but not much more than that. This could only be accessed from a specific spot to the North of the house.

Not too far from the entrance, the bodies of the slain fleders and bruxa lay rotting. Lyrra grimaced at the sight but tried to keep her sharp eyes focused on the windows of the cabin. She didn't want to enter the property if she didn't have to – despite setting off without the witcher, she actually was rather averse to violent danger and had a healthy respect for staying alive. She wouldn't chance to encounter one of the foul creatures below if she could help it.

So, she stood.

Quiet and watchful.

Looking for any hint of movement or life from inside.

Nothing.

She leapt to a nearby tree as nimbly as a squirrel and viewed the property from this new vantage point.

Again nothing.

She repeated this process a few more times, but encounter no sign of someone staying in the cabin. At least no human person. She had heard of fleders before and were fairly certain that they were creatures of the night... she would need to ask Geralt, but if that were the case then she may see no movement if these creatures were resting.

Sighing, she gingerly dropped to the ground and abruptly froze as she looked up into a pair of unimpressed golden eyes. She pursed her lips, suddenly feeling like a child caught stealing sweats before hesitantly asking while gesturing to the tree, "Heard me?"

"Smelled." Geralt grumbled.

Lyrra crinkled her nose in faint disgust, "That's lovely."

A faint hint of amusement shined in his gaze before he raised a brow at her, "Well?"

It took her a moment to understand what he was asking before she replied, "I saw no one, but it is light out now... those creatures? Are they nocturnal? They may be resting."

Geralt pondered her words. Fleders were sensitive to the sun, but that didn't necessarily preclude they'd be inside. He'd rather be thorough with his check of the property. He licked his lips, "How do I get past the illusion?"

Lyrra was silent a moment. She only knew of the Croorey House because of her need of it years ago, part of her felt like a snitch to divulge its secrets now. Yet, Geralt already knew so much, giving him the last of the secrets would likely do little harm, "There's an entrance to the north. You'll see a glimmer of blue light. Enter. That's how you get inside."

Geralt nodded and pulled his sword from its sheath. She noted for the first time he was more properly clothed for a fight than he had been last night. His leather armor still had a rent in it, however. She would have him take it to Hillard to be repaired when they returned.

"You will stay here, Lyrra." Geralt ordered with a dark look. He hadn't forgotten her disregard of his instruction not to come up here alone.

To his surprise, she nodded and leaned against the trunk of the tree she had disbanded from, "Alright. Just be careful. I don't think I could get you back to Nyria by myself."

He snorted at her but kept from commenting as he slipped silently from her side. Lyrra watched after him amount before she scaled the tree again, this time to watch his progress.

Geralt was quiet...more quiet than she expected for such a large man and fast. His speed did not surprise her as much. Training with him had allowed her to be on the receiving end of his speed far too often. She observed how he quickly located the glimmer and stepped past the illusion. He seemed to pause once he had entered the property and she didn't understand why until she found his golden gaze locked on her again. A shiver spurned down her back... this was the first time she became fully aware of what a predator the witcher truly was. She had never known someone to be so aware of their surroundings.

It was vaguely terrifying.

In all, it took him maybe ten minutes to clear the property, inside and out. A look of mild consternation coated his countenance as he returned to her. Lyrra raised a brow at him from her place on a branch as she reiterated his earlier question, "Well?"

Geralt glared speculatively at her before replying dismissively, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

The witcher said nothing. His mind elsewhere as he started the walk back into Glynedol. Lyrra stared after him, perplexed before dropping to the ground a second time and running to catch up. She didn't understand. What did Geralt mean by nothing? Was there no sign that anyone had stayed there or just no one present?

She didn't ask, not sure how to frame her questions correctly to gain the maximum information. Geralt was hardly verbal at the best of times, something she didn't ordinarily mind, but now her inquiring mind wanted to know.

She finally parsed out what she would ask when they arrived in town, but it hardly mattered as she was instantly waylaid by Hillard and Owain. Both looked grim and she suddenly feared the worse had happened to Tyllan.

She tensed at their approach and felt more than saw Geralt do the same. Hillard was the one to start, "Lass..."

"Is he dead?" Lyrra asked quietly, not liking the awkward look on either man's face.

Hillard blanched for a moment in confusion before realization took him, "No, Tyllan's still bein' watched by Nyria and Myer. It's yer boy."

"Jaskier?"

Hillard nodded, "He's left, lass."

Geralt stared intently at the barkeep over her shoulder, "What do you mean he left?"

The older man seemed to falter for a moment, having forgotten that the bard traveled with the witcher. Owain had no trouble taking over, "He mentioned somethin' about a tournament an' said he'd be back in a day or two."

"A tournament?" Lyrra muttered bemused as she tried to remember what the gossip in the Pine had been.

Geralt sounded weary as he asked, "A tournament where?"

"Bellhaven." Owain answered.

That made Lyrra's eyes spring wide. She cursed under her breath as she remembered what exact tournament the innkeeper spoke of, "The dice tournament?"

Owain shrugged and Hillard grimaced. It was all the answer that Lyrra needed as she rubbed tiredly at her face. When she looked up Geralt was watching her expectantly, "We need to go get him."

The witcher quirked a brow at her.

"Jaskier's about to be introduced to Toussaint's Syndicate." She all but mumbled.

Geralt stared at her for a moment before heaving a sigh and quietly cursing...Fuck.


End file.
